Grandma's Balls

My Grandma had big balls, Big heavy hairy yams, Swinging boulders under her dress, She would stand one leg on a chair, Her hefty doc martin boots tight, Leaning one elbow on her knee, Stroking her bold chin with left hand, Blowing choking tobacco smoke, From a liquorice papered roll, Like a musket fuse in the right. In awe I would see them The tips of coconuts, Ponderous, potent, dangerous, Dangling out from under her frock Like, Churchill, Drake, or Wellington, Planning raids of domestic loot, Planning lethal Sunday Dinners Planning bingo hall victories Planning serious drunken brawls Grandma’s low hanging British balls.