A Little Local Difference
In de mean streets of Ledbury Der is one block Between 15th and Mabel's Orchard It's best not to look. Der's a hang-out called Oice Boites - What kinda name is dat? - Where de Shoiks and de Jets Toit dey'd go nap. I ain't toikin' cards I'm toikin' turf wars: For control of de territory Out come de boys.
Ledbury's a town Where you don't wanna mess. De law, it ain't stoopid, Dey've just left it, I guess, To shake itself down Den dey'll clean up de cess. Now in Ledbury Town Poetry's big - I mean big- An' to shift all de shit You need a good gig. Most of de noice guys Dey've ended up dead Trundlin' in concrete Tru de banks of de Led. So we're toikin' real serious, let's get dis straight, De shoiks an der famblies Got it all on a plate. Widdout dey say "yes" Der ain't nothin' moves - Der teacake franchise Is jus' one of der grooves. No cake moves an inch Widdout dey say so But if you're a good boy You can share in de dough. Mrs Muffins in Choich Lane De washroom all right Where dey launder de money To whitest of white.
Free-range butchery's another Where dey got control, Ain't a poik chop dat's eaten Dat ain't paid de toll. But butchers an' teashops Dat's just chicken-feed stuff, Poetry's mainline, Dey jus' can't get enough. So jus' like de teacakes An' jus' like de chops When it comes to de pomes - an' I mean de whole shebang: Production, Distribution, Protection, Remooneration - When it comes to de pomes It's de Shoiks call de shots.
But onto dis happy scene Der falls a shadow, A noo buncha guys Are up in de saddle. Dey call demselves Jets An' dey're lookin' for land Der biros an' pens Dey are hot in der hand.
For a coupla weeks It was evens, dey say, Some deaths on each side Other lives'd have to pay - Also a whole lotta collateral damage - Things weren't goin' nowhere Till a Shoik had a thought - An' it ain't every day A Shoik manages a whole thought All on his own - "We could save on de bloodshed If just two of us fought." De noos it spread fast Dat a dool ud take place Wid de boss of de Shoiks An de Jets face to face.
Nick opened proceedins With a well-crafted line. It smacked Dan in de midriff, But he said he was fine. Danny swung a couplet That caught Nicky's head, He rocked for a moment. What's in dat glove? Lead? Nick socked him a sonnet, All fourteen lines. Dan swayed on, his eyes glazed, But he held on in time. Back came a haiku, Dat's five-seven-five, An old eastern trick, But, hey! we're still alive. Quick as a flash With an Auden quotation Nick got in a body blow Which drew admiration. Danny countered with a limerick, A doity one at that, Nick doubled in laughter, His knees hit the mat. But he's back on his feet And he's trading blank verse, At the end of the round Danny's come out de worse. Nick thinks he smells blood An' moves in for de kill, A chunk of free verse Should just fit de bill. You can see Danny's hurt By de look on his face.
But whateva is dis? His wig's slipped its place. At last all stands clear Dan is not one of us, He's flutterin' his eyelids An' that chest is a bust. It's now clear he's a broad Dressed up as a guy, An' to make matters worse Now she's startin' to cry. Finish her, Nick! Was the shout from his gang, But Nick is a gent An' lets his gloves hang. Daniella looks up An' sees her big chance: Astounding alliteration, Astonishing assonance. Nick folds to de canvas An' measures his length The Jets' super-hero Has been sapped of his strength By dis fickle Delilah Who gets de Shoiks' cheers. From de open-mouthed Jets It's half-hearted jeers.
De ref is bewildered He looks in de rules But there ain't one to cover Broads fightin' doods. He calls dem together An' says it's a draw. Nick, he don' like it But he offers a paw. Daniella accepts it An' flutters her peepers, Nick's lookin' strange - O my God, jeepers creepers, What's goin' on here? Don't fall fer her, kid. Dis story's turned puky So I'll screw down de lid.
De Shoiks an' de Jets Called a truce de next day - On a temporary basis, you understand - An' de Scribes an' de Poets Joined in de melee.[NB add accent] When dey troo down der arms What a sight to behold: sharpened pencils chewed-down ball-points front loadin' propellin' pencils fountain pens with rusty nibs any number of keyboards a typewriter and one packet of fluorescent glitter gel pens.
An' de paper! Spiral bounds, jotters, post-it notes, writing pads, an' note pads of every size an' color, A4 sheets wid an' widdout margins, even ol' envelopes an' table napkins.
- A truly sickenin' sight Which struck dumb de townsfolk Whose hearts dey jus' froze Dat all dis sick scribblin' Was jus' under der nose.
Now I'm sure dat you know dis But under der armor All hoods an' gangsters Dey luvva der mamma. Show me a gang boss Or show me some muscle, Der hearts are marshmallow When dey ain't on de hustle. So with Christmas approachin' - Am I really sayin' dis? - It's hugs an' embraces An' a big sloppy kiss.
De vendetta's over De moral now comes: Put de hardware away An' stick to de pomes.
Charles Eden
Original work by Charles Eden, published in The Homend Poets. All rights reserved.
Copyright The Homend Poets 2010
The Homend Poets meet on the last Tuesday of each month (except July and August) at Ice Bytes at 6pm. For further information contact Nick Halligan on 01684 563281
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