Ben and Bob liked tennis.
They argued over scores.
One Saturday the menace
From the clouds kept them indoors.

Their goth friends who adored doom
Would enjoy these rainy days.
They sat in boredom's boardroom
And they tried to think of ways

To spend their afternoon,
To make the time fly by,
Until the crescent moon
Would embellish plain black sky.

They thought about attending
A display of dance routines
By Owen, who'd be mending
Broken engines and machines.

The engines always won.
Their victories enraged him.
For others it was fun
Watching power tools upstage him.

He couldn't stand a gloater
Or the resolute defiance
Of a small lawnmower motor
Or an obstinate appliance.

His anger made him hammer
Bits and pieces into place.
His garage lacked the glamour
Of a large performance space.

This didn't hold him back.
The crowd would call for more
When he'd finished his attack
And he'd let out his last roar.

Ben and Bob agreed
That these dances would provide
The diversion that they need
Till the rain-soaked day had dried.

But they missed Owen's show.
When they reached his garage door
He had finished with his foe.
It was scattered on the floor,

A former tumble dryer
That refused to be repaired.
He showed his inner fire
And his grievances were aired.

Ben and Bob saw tears
Welling up in Owen's eyes.
They get appalling fears
When another person cries.

They wanted to abandon
Owen's garage with great haste.
They'd rather climb Mount Brandon
In their bare feet while being chased

By savage dogs and manic goats
And women they had riled
By telling oft-told anecdotes
That once left them beguiled.

But Owen started talking
Just before they could retreat.
A course of steadfast walking
Was abandoned, and their feet

Engaged in steadfast standing
As he spoke about his life.
He said it needs re-branding
And a sharp decrease in strife.

He told them many tales
Of his father's skill with tools.
His father's gladness fails
When he has to suffer fools.

But he reassures his son
When Owen fails to fix
An engine or a gun
Using spanners, shouts and kicks.

His father's name is Edward.
He's known for miles around.
Statues and the dead heard
His machine to dig hard ground.

It used to be a drill until
He modified its parts.
It could bring fear to a hill
And to mountains' granite hearts.

It took ten men to man it.
These men were hard as nails.
The government had to ban it
After hills turned into vales.

Edward spent ten years
Working on his hovercraft.
People were in tears
As they rolled around and laughed

After seeing Edward's blueprints
For his boat that lacked a hull.
They looked to see if new dents
Had been added to his skull,

Or else he'd opened mental doors
To ghosts who live in fumes.
His hovercraft would have three floors
And twenty-seven rooms.

The bar would be adjacent
To the gents'. He was emphatic
That he couldn't have a basement
So he planned a spacious attic.

A snooker room and music hall
Were also planned beside
A prison cell where drunks could brawl
And criminals could hide.

Edward didn't take the chance
To gloat when he unveiled
His hovercraft where friends could dance,
Play snooker and get jailed.

People would applaud
When they saw the mammoth gears.
When he planned a trip abroad
And he needed volunteers,

Seven friends assented,
None of them faint-hearted.
Their heads might have been dented.
Undaunted, they departed.

They travelled for a year
Over foreign lands and seas.
They learnt to lose their fear
Of the leaves from talking trees.

They came across magicians
Who could make a mouse grow tall
And men on expeditions
To retrieve their cricket ball.

They brought back many presents,
Like plants and magic bells,
And statues made by peasants
Who reside in giant snail shells.

When Owen reached the end
Of his tales about these trips
He'd lost the will the mend
All the leaks where water drips.

The sun came out again.
He left his fierce guard cat.
He went with Bob and Ben
Down a narrow, winding path.

A line of trees and bushes blocked
Views of the hovercraft.
The bar on-board was still well-stocked
And it remained well-staffed.

Edward and his friends were there.
Ben and Bob felt awe.
They both were seeing something rare
In everything they saw.

Edward spoke of foreign lands
Where days could last for months,
Where mighty men with many hands
Took part in daunting hunts.

The bar man pointed out
That the jukebox needed fixing,
And he was plagued by doubt
Without songs for cocktail mixing.

Owen said he'd do the job.
He seemed extremely keen.
He entertained both Ben and Bob
With his new dance routine,

A dance that left the music dead.
Edward watched and cried.
"That's my son," he softly said
With undeniable pride.