London, 1993

I traveled by myself to Great Britain in the summer of 1993 because I desperately needed a break from school. I had very little money as I’d spent almost everything on the plane ticket, which meant I had nowhere to stay.

Luckily, a few weeks before I left, a Nigerian friend of mine studying for his doctorate in Electrical Engineering told me he had friends with whom I could stay while in the UK. What I didn’t know was that these friends of his were members of the rather strange Christian cult. What a summer!

Anyway, I bought a few books while in London, one of which was 100 Poems on the Underground, a book of poems which had appeared on the subway trains. As I spent some part of today cleaning up my office I found it on my shelf, dusty and marked with post-its marking poems I liked—in 1993. Here’s one:

I Saw a Jolly Hunter

I saw a jolly hunter
With a jolly gun
Walking in the country
In the jolly sun.

In the jolly meadow
Sat a jolly hare.
Saw the jolly hunter.
Took jolly care.

Hunter jolly eager —
Sight of jolly prey.
Forgot gun pointing
Wrong jolly way.

Jolly hunter jolly head
Over heels gone.
Jolly old safety catch
Not jolly on.

Bang went the jolly gun.
Hunter jolly dead.
Jolly hare got clean away.
Jolly good, I said.

CHARLES CAUSLEY (b. 1917)

I can’t believe I thought this poem was worthy of a 1993-era post-it. I hope Causley's jolly dead, the prick.