William Whizz by Dave Rigby

In his youth he whirled by, a passing blur, always on to the next thing,

‘No time’ his favourite phrase.

Always first in the 100 yards.

First in the dinner queue, first to finish eating, first for seconds.

First out of the exam room door, though never first in exam results.

First to spend all his pocket money, first to ask Dad for more,

Not that he got any more.

But in old age William has slowed down.

He stands by the pond for ages, counting the ducks,

Refusing to feed them because, you know, bread’s not good for them.

He walks slowly down to the shop to buy his Mirror,

Drinks his coffee standing up at the tea bar, slow sip by slow sip.

Ambles his way round the park,

Retired greyhound, Frank, longing for a bit of youthful speed.

Takes an age on the crossword,

Cryptically questioning his answer to every teasing clue,

Before finally filling each square with the appropriate pencilled letter.

Plays his thirty three and a third records, through the long winter evenings,

His bedtime cocoa cold by the finish.

When asked about the contrast between his older and younger selves,

He says simply:

“I liked being quick back then, saving time,

So I’d have more time left to potter and ponder in old age.”