Jordan – A draft of something… Finally

7 Jul

Be interested to know what you guys reckon.

Me mam marching us
to the doctors the Tuesday after
we was all sparked out
behind the Tropical Trip
and all our mams and dads thought
we’d been boozing or smoking
or taking summat we shon’t have done,
or, though not bloody likely they said,
that we was all seriously ill,
when really we’d just never kipped
at Nay’s birthday do the night before.
And then some doctor reckoning
it was the red sauce
we’d had on us burgers
that gets left in the sun
roasting away for weeks at a time,
a cesspit for bacteria and that,
that’d got us all ill and that,
and so they made all us stay off school
to flush out whatever bug
we’d got oursens this time.


Picko talking out his arse again
about some bird he’d pulled on
his holidays last year and calling
us out on being little virgin boys still.
Then us lot getting him in the outside
seat on the ski jump ride
and us rocking from one side
to the other every time
we went round and round,
building up momentum
so when it whipped round
the corner and piled up and
over the jump, we all went
full welly at him sliding down
the seat and him almost cracking
a rib or two or ten. And the bruises
all up his sides for a fortnight after.


Winning a goldfish on the hook-a-duck stall
and wondering what to do now:
either take it home
and wait a few days
for it to die in the tank
and poison the rest,
or drop it in the pond
for the herons to nab.
Or forcing Christopher Taylor
to lose a bet and then telling him
you better eat that there fish
or you best get yoursen over there
and get asking out that Laura Fletcher, youth.
And him then eating the fish.


Buying bows and arrows
at the charity shop tent
and firing them at carriages
on the rides or the carts
and burger vans leaving
at the end of the day,
and seeing how far
they’d take the arrows
before the suction failed
and they fell in the nettles
by the caravan gate
because we’d not licked
us arrows enough.


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