he
climbed
fast
from hooded scally malchick
sunken fiesta outside the flatblock
moloko plus in his mozg
to acting capo with remit over weekend bookies
( cheltenam
the national
real horrorshow days )
and the lunchtime groody strip trade
( pound nuggets in pint glasses
surprised accidental tourists
total pain in the rectal )
he had smarts enough to grok he was being tested
now a friday nochy supper-up
with the big boss
under the luna in his home-county mesto
orange brick
roman pillars
gold taps
help in starched white
dorogoy chinese rugs
a heated pool with a small waterfall
underneath the entrance way stairs
he chumbled thru the fish soup starter
dreaming of a kfc zinger
but gobcast over the gressingham duck
he said
if it hadnt been for my ded droog timmy fingers
getting me away from the night football
getting me off the art & craft nights at the y
getting me off the yoofy club chess team
if it hadnt been for timmy fingers . . .
he stopped with gen-yoo-iyne tears in his glazzies
. . . timmy fingers he said
helped me pawn my trombone
to pay for my first zip gun
if it hadnt been for my ded droog timmy fingers . . .
he said choking up on self blubber
. . . i could have ended up in a boy band
or the leytonstone under 21s
loveted in a straight and narrow flat jeezny
with a very taxable income
and not here
crooked and wide
a goblet of firegold
and a subaru outside
all my cutter-squids my own
from uk.complex.com
