BEASTLY TALES

THE PLEASANT CHAP

Henry Capp was a most pleasant chap,
The sort of fellow you would instantly clap,
On the back saying, “You’re my sort of bloke,”
“I do really, really mean it. It’s not a joke.”
His cousin Horace Pile, in contrast, was vile,
Most people meeting him determined to run a mile.
Horace hadn’t a friend in the world,
Folk meeting him felt their top lip had curled.
Into a sneer, on automatic reaction,
To Horace’s vile presence, a distraction.

So why was one so very different from the other?
It must have something to do with genes, their mother.
And, of course, the father too. A to-do, about gene stew,
But a lot would rest on environment, circumstances too.
Looks and body language would count a lot.
These considerations should be thrown in the pot.
But both these fellows looked O.K.
Body language held equal sway.

Henry Capp went on to good works,
While Horace Pile, in dark alleys still lurks.
One not earning much in Charity Thing-a-me-Bob,
The other surviving from those unfortunates he’d rob.
At last each one now met a dame,
Equally built, they looked much the same.
One was attracted to Henry’s clean image,
Whilst the other met Horace at a bar room scrimmage.
Events moved along as nature dictates,
Eventually each couple had imminent dates,
For the most wonderful event of all,
The birth of their firstborn. They’d always recall.

Each couple felt the very same real joy,
When the mid-wife announced, “It’s a boy!”
Henry and his good lady wife,
Had no doubt, no decision strife,
As they readily named their son, “Horace.”
Horace and his wife initially thought, “Maurice,”
But resorted to “Henry” after a pause,
They thought he would be useful to do the chores.
Is there a pattern emerging here?
Henry’s family felt close and dear,
While Horace’s brood seemed to act queer.

Horace’s son, Henry, grew up a lout,
Of Henry’s son, Horace, there was no doubt,
That he would grow up, an asset to all,
Whilst Henry Jr. did things to appal.
As each, now, progressed through the system of school,
One was quite brilliant, the other a fool.
Horace Jr. was quite fit to bust,
To go on to works both good and just,
Henry Jr., rarely washing off grime,
Gravitated to a life mired in crime.
And so it followed many a decade,
Each pursuing the life’s course they’d made.

So do we learn anything from all this guff?
Such as what’s it all about, that kind of stuff.
Perhaps it readily illustrates the importance of the company we choose.
If decency hangs out with decadency we could lose,
That spark that generates the good over bad,
Formulating the direction that each has had.