Edward’s Final Draft

7 Jul

Length: 4 – 4:30mins 

Feedback: Performance and name ideas


I tripped down the Daily Mail rabbit hole,
sucked in by its gravity to a land of insanity.
hitting my head on branches of bigot-trees

– and when they snap, the echo shouts back:
“Go back to where you came from!”
“You don’t belong here!”

Snagging, scratching and splintering
and trying to pull me into them.
Down, down, down through the dirt.

I span round endlessly

a washing machine tripping on ecstasy,
seeing pictures of lost girls before me

Wondering where they could be;
whether victims of paedophile celebrities
or just another kid left home at sixteen.

Then, finally: I could fall no further.
I regained consciousness to see
a can of Red Stripe wearing a ruddy bow-tie,

commanding me to drink its insides

– so, happily, I obliged.

But, with every gulp: ink ran down the walls,
forming warnings of a binge drinking Britain
Are children being puppeteered by cans of beer
metamorphosing them into crooks and thieves
intent on nothing but trying to breed?

Can a 500ml can really be the cause of the flaws

of a whole generation of our nation?
Or is this simply another scapegoat for our own human nature?

As I pondered and wondered and chundered
I felt my stomach’s alarm bells start to shake
and a table revealed itself proudly holding the most magnificent cake!

With countless kaleidoscopic colours:
chocolate, cheese, strawberries
and ‘Eat me’ written in Skittles calligraphy.

Mouthful after mouthful I gorged in delight
– but, it had been laced by some serpentine spite,
as, this time, the ink gushed forth from my eyes,

hissing of “obesity!” and “gluttony!” as it filled every part of me.
Unable to breathe and uncontrollably the ink kept transforming me:
too fat, too thin, too tall, too small, too black, too white – all right!

I lay emaciated on the floor with the remnants of ink dribbling down my chin
and as I asked myself what crazy world this could be;
I received an invitation to the Mad Hatter’s UKIP Party.

At the head of this party sat a toad pouring beer down his ears
To rapturous applause from all his peers,
whilst the snakes, rats and flabby cats wondered why they hadn’t thought of doing that!

So I watched as all around grabbed their drinks and poured them down
and I wondered if there was any sense here to be found.
Then I discovered a dormant mouse, oblivious to the chaos all around.

Apparently, his name was Gove, and he had decided to be completely comatosed
Until, somehow the beast that he was entrusted with guarding had slain itself
so that he could could put up his paws – and blame someone else!

This seemed a queer idea to me and I expressed precisely this,
When all went quieter than a snake’s hiss
As the toad belched at me in a solemn tone:

“You will find nothing queer around here.
Go back to from whence you came,
and never come back to our land again!”

Then all of a sudden a mob came thundering through,
with pitchforks and lit torches to aid their coup
– which I initially thought was meant for me.

Until I saw the banners picturing their Queen
accompanied by them chanting like an incantation:
“Off with her head! Off with her head!”

So I ran in front to try and find
Her Majesty, to warn her of this regicide.

But what I found was not a palace by any leap of the mind,
it was a pale grey council house perched upon a grassy mound,
inside: a starving skeleton sat on her throne

Watching the crumbling decadence of her home.
Sheltered from the shouts and screams of the Chimpanzees,
bellowing as they bare their teeth:

“Burn the witch sat on benefits!”
“Why should we work and slave whilst she gets paid
to sit and do nothing but decay?”

The walls reverberate and the windows crack
as her penurious palace starts to collapse.

Though the Queen silently sits as her chandelier falls
like precipitate, like the daggers of the Daily Mail,
down, down, down towards her head.

The door flies off its hinges as the riot erupts,
desperate to try and find her,
to get some money from the uptight meiser.

But – there she sits:
With a ruby heart shape upon her pate,
the parting gift of the passing glass,

the shard flew straight through before it hit the ground,
shattering into diamonds all around
and so even in death she retains her jewels.

Slowly, I grew back to normal size,
and looked on all below with incredulous eyes,
dwelling on it like an obscene dream;

the prejudice, politics and benefits Queen
– but this is a world many bring into their home,
not somewhere hidden down the rabbit hole.



One Response to “Edward’s Final Draft”

  1. Amanda Huebner July 7, 2014 at 5:02 pm #

    I love it.

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