Bland On Bland – Suburban

Photo By Jools Thatcher
Photo By Jools Thatcher

The theme for this week’s JVG Radio Method poem is “Suburban”. Not as easy as you would think.

Ed Bates is in fine form on the guitar this week

Play this poem directly in your browser! Just click the “play” button below:

Here is “Life In The Suburbs”, this is the song that JVG played at the opening of the show.


When the Jessup’s separated, they reached an amicable accord
Mrs Jessup kept the children while her husband kept the Ford

She was quick to quit the suburbs she had hated from the start
Devoid of all she longed for – Culture, theatre, art

“The plains of mediocrity” – Mrs Jessup’s parting snub
“The great suburban desert – with the emphasis on sub”

“Pig” Mills was deeply shocked – in fact shaken to the core
No-one had ever questioned his world – all he knew, before

Was it really dull and lacking? – Something perhaps he’d missed?
Beyond the cream brick valleys did a better world exist?

“Spanner”, “Squirrel”, Lindy and “Rabbit” were worried about their friend
“Pig” was scared he’d be left behind, alone at the shallow end

They hatched a plan to save their mate, all vowed to do their best
To champion the suburbs and the riches they possessed

They sat “Pig” down in the tree hut with a Sunny Boy and a fag
Pine needles for tobacco, rolled in an old paper bag

Now “Rabbit” was no great orator – but his words came from the heart
His opening line was “Bugger me “Pig” who gives a shit about art”

“So, the city has ‘The Yellow Peril” – which Mrs Jessup adores”
“The Chaplees’ yard’s full of car wrecks – and most of them have doors”

“When it comes to paintings and crap like that, we leave the city for dead”
“The Vargas nudes, from Playboy, line Old man Richard’s shed”

“Mr Leoni, the gardening nut, his hedge clipper never rests”
“He’s trimmed his Lily Pily into Gina Lollobrigida’s breasts”

“We’ve got restaurants, both Chinese, the aptly named “Fuk U”
“And the take away across the street, its sister, “Fuk U 2”

“No tree huts in Bourke Street “Pig” – in fact, hardly any trees”
“No soothing hum of Victas like a swarm of frenzied bees”

“No friendly corner milk bars selling Freckles, Bullets, Snakes”
“Just coffee lounges, tea rooms, serving mincey little cakes”

“What about our Billy Carts? We might all love the thrill”
“But where you going to ride it? Up and down the Punt Road Hill?”

“Know what else you’ll miss?” came “Squirrel’s” interjection
“The greatest day of the year, besides Christmas – Hard Rubbish Collection!

Then “Spanner” usually silent, came out with this beaut
“The suburbs are like the bonnet while the city’s like the boot”

They all nodded in agreement though somewhat reticent
Cause no-one had the foggiest idea what “Spanner” meant

But the weight of “Rabbit’s” words had brought “Pig” back to earth
How could he have doubted the suburbs of his birth?

As he gazed across the roof tops and the rows of paling fences
Something clicked in “Pig’s” small brain which brought him to his senses

It wasn’t just the words that had been the instigator
But the sweet perfume of burning rubber from the Beasley’s incinerator

In that perfect moment he felt all wonderment subside
Once again embraced his stupidity with pride

Order, now restored, the tree hut came alive
As two Jehovah Witnesses came striding down the drive

“Spanner” aimed his shanghai as his quarry reached the door
“Pig” Mills squealed, contentedly “Who could ask for more?”

© Copyright 2010 Ian Bland

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