When the Devonshire opens again

There’s a chore I’ve been meaning to do for some while
It’s not one I enjoy—it’s a pain
So I swore I would do it as soon as I could
Once the Devonshire opens again

And as one summer passed, then one more, then one more
I thought that I’d played my cards smart
I’d kept to my vow, and it seemed the chore now
Was one I might not have to start

Like a suit that needed a mend here and there
‘Till only a button remained
The reno seemed headed more downward than up
Though “opening soonish,” it claimed

I thought I’d be safe for a few more years yet
Of my task I became unafraid
Then a note in the Times signalled ‘job hiring fair’
There were staff who were going to be paid!

What if the Drake really does open up
I awoke in a sweat, with a yell
Will the sunshine now fade in the east not the west?
Will it start to freeze over in hell?

I could have said, “when the gazebo is done,”
If I’d wanted what never comes true
But one look at the park and lo and behold—
I’ll be darned—they’re building that, too!

The safest promise remains only one
If you don’t want it to come to pass
You’ll say that you’ll tackle that odious chore
When Wellington starts pumping gas

But as I’m a man of both honour and pride
My word must be kept come what may
No more conditions, no ifs, ands or buts
I have to start work right away

So say welcome for me to new friends from the Drake
Duty calls, as some fool once said
Tell the stars they look marvellous, on my behalf—
‘Cos I’ll be home, painting my shed.

dsimmonds@wellingtontimes.ca