I’m bone and blood and little more,
a parapet of grandeur lost
a swiping, typing scruffy boor.
I’m only this, and little more.
I’m rock and wreck, a boy next door,
who left Valhalla red and glossed,
that looming, fuming son of Thor.
I’m hardly this, and barely more.
I’m ragged claws down by the shore,
that beach-bound brute the kids accost
who’s gnashing, bashing all the more.
At least I’m this, if nothing more.