Ian In England

Ian In England

The theme for this week’s JVG Radio Method is “The People ”

I am over in the UK at the moment and am phoning the poems in to the show.

No rest for the wicked eh?

This week is a bit of  an experiment, I have asked some people over here to read bits of the poem for me.

Let me know what you think – good and bad

[audio:JVG_Poem20090830.mp3]

The People

I go to the pub – Order a beer
Pat my pockets – It’s somewhere here
Check my jacket, my pants, my brain
I check again, I check again
My wallet is gone

Not as though I’ve travelled far
From the taxi to the bar
Ten paces max – A minute – most
But the milk is spilt and my wallet’s toast
Check the floor, the stairs, the lane
I check again, I check again
My wallet is gone

Friends at the pub are optimistic
‘Cept Dave who’s optimistically realistic
“This is Coventry, mate, abandon all hope”
“You’ve got more chance of becoming the Pope”

“People” countered Brenda “Usually do the right thing
Be patientThink positive thoughts”
Positive – with a couple of noughts
The People – collectively, the sum of the parts
Communal benevolence from malevolent hearts

But I give “The People” the benefit of doubt
I wait till closing – they throw me out
Walk 5 miles home in drizzling rain
I check again, I check again
My wallet is definitely gone

Did I drop it on the taxi seat?
Or that guy who bumped me in the street?
Lost or stolen, it’s all the same
Someone out there has my name
Cash and cards – my date of birth
A PIN away from all I’m worth

Disbelief to frustration to Anger to Hate
Some young prick from a housing estate
A Hoody, a face that’s never seen sun
Attitude like his haircut – a number one
How many wallets has he stuck in his vein?
I check once again, I check once again
My wallet is still gone

I’m out with a girlfriend, a night on the town
Climb into a cab and when I look down
A wallet – open – I know it’s a sin
At first I intend handing it in

Then I notice a licence with Photo ID
I think “What a Tosser” – he looks so bourgeoisie
I look at my girlfriend and she whispers “Wanker”
“He looks like some bolshie post hippy banker”

When I see he’s Australian, I decide that I’ll knick it
They’re always losing something – remember the cricket?

I feel not a skerrick of remorse for this joker
What my Kiwi friend calls ‘A Byron Bay Broker’

The smug little smile – so naff and inane
I look once again – and I look once again
This wallet is mine

I head back to the, pub – I find someone’s purse
Hand it in at the bar – Life is perverse

The owner’s ecstatic – I’ve made her weekend
She buys me a drink; we sit down with her friend

I have a pint, she’s rum and coke
I can’t respond, I explain, cause I’m broke

Don’t worry about it, the drinks are on me
I came into some money quite recently

Pardon my rudeness – I don’t usually stare
But you look so familiar – I can’t quite place where

I’m sure that we’ve met – I know it sounds like a line
Let’s all go for dinner – fancy some wine?

We feast like royalty – hate to think what it cost
I reckon ’bout the same as the money I’ve lost

I thank her again and she thanks me again
My wallet’s still gone – and so is the pain

© Copyright 2009 Ian Bland

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