Brownes Puckan



Jim Browe above in Lacken

Had a virile puckan goat

On his prowess, ‘mid the bracken

There was every right to gloat.

The she-goats of the nation

He’d see they’d have a ball;

For a small remuneration

>From their owners one and all.


Like wildfire round the mountain

His reputation spread,

And nanny-goats past countin’

With binder-twine were led

The puck could fairly rise ‘er

(He serviced great and small)

Like a P.R.O. for Pfizer

He pranced around his stall.


His prowess was discussed with pash,

Among the Wicklow hills.

In places like Donard And Clash

(Well known for trills and spills)

When the media came to tape him

He was at their beck an’ call.

And youths aspired to ape him

In every Parish Hall.


Some neighbour-no doubt jealous

Told an agent of the State,

Who with pen and clipboard, zealous,

Arrived at Jim’s front gate.

” An illicit stud’s reported,

I must check out the call”.

“I’m guilty” Jim retorted

“My back’s against the wall”.


The puck went through exacting tests

With techniques old and new,

And past them all (despite their jests)

And with flying colours too.

He was registered in Dublin

As a stud could now walk tall:

With his new found status troublin’

The ones who hoped he’d fall


Now trading with impunity

Jim Browe could plainly see

A golden opportunity

To double up the fee.

The goat-house he had slated

With fluorescent light an’ all

And the price (in Euros) stated

On an ornamental spall.


Soon came an old reliable

With goat, and readies too.

The new regime seemed viable

But wait ’till I tell you;

The Puck decided he’d relax

And languished in his stall

While a license stamped with sealing wax

Hung framed upon the wall.


As more clients at the junction

Queued now with some chagrin

Erectile (goat) dysfunction

Appeared to have set in.

They coaxed him by being placid,

Then began to roar and bawl,

But the puck remained quite flaccid;

He wouldn’t rise at all.


Said Jim ” My little earner

Has turned out a farce”

As growing ever sterner

He aimed a kick in t’ arse.

The puck glanced sideways, nervous,

At the parchment on the wall.

“Now I’m in the Civil Service

I’m supposed to do fuck-all”.

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