Bazookas and Bubble Gum
Published: August 14, 2008
Updated: August 18, 2008
Half-term holiday down Gas House Lane;
kids meld on the corner by the sweet shop.
A fairy queen emerges, up at number 9A,
skips, two steps at a time, down front porch steps,
clutching at her precious cardboard crown
as it slips over one eye.
A necklace, strung with orchids
of toilet paper kind
complete with jazzy woollen cardigan
buttoned up wrong;
cotton dress with bow, half untied.
Her little sister tries to hold her hand,
attempts to pinch her wand
as they stand, mouths a-gog, chewing gum.
The boys making mischief with an old down-pipe,
recovered from the tip down the road.
The oldest boy totes it
goading them to fight.
The filthy rotten scum!
If they’re not careful, right,
he’ll blow their brains out, right,
in a calculated, random kind of torture.
Catcalls and yells resound off terraced walls.
Someone’s nicked a skateboard. OK!
Grab the smallest kid – send him on a devilish ride.
Halfway down the street he collides,
thwacks broadside, on a lamp-post.
They split their sides laughing as he cries;
wipes his nose on his coat and rubs his eyes.
The fairy queen proclaims she’s just wet her knickers
as tiny feet jiggle in their fluffy, pink slippers
with Donald Duck and Goofy on the toes.
“Fucking bastard!” she shouts to no one special,
as she spins full circle,
kicking at the air, Karati style.
Blows a kiss in a bubble at her sister.