Photo By Jools Thatcher

Photo By Jools Thatcher

The theme for this week’s JVG Radio Method poem is “ Top “.

A trip back to the neighbourhood this week, this one just seemed to pop out fully formed. Wish it could be like that all the time.

Ed Bates supplied the guitar backing this week

To play this poem directly in your browser – just click the “play” button below:
[audio:JVG_Poem20120909.mp3]

Also have a listen to the songs on the New Album “Angel In Reverse


Top

“What? The top? The tip? The highest point?” “Pig” made no apology
To buy a short reprieve he’d gladly use tautology

“What me? Right up! Up that…thingy, really high”
His limited store of synonyms already running dry

The pine tree in the Chaplee’s yard was ninety feet at least
You could just make out a cricket ball stuck atop that beast

A “Rabbit” McGorry pull shot: Well, that’s what he meant it to be to be
Mistimed, as usual, a thick top edge; caught for a duck by the tree

If his mum had seen the cricket ball she’d have gone right of her nut
But their tennis ball had been consumed by Kevin Quigley’s mutt

A set of complex regulations governs backyard cricket
Some laws are universal, some determined by the wicket

Over the fence, six and out: the car or a window, four
Hit Mr’s Chaplee’s washing you were gone without a score

On the roof or up a tree, the rules were very clear
“You hit it, you get it” no ifs or buts, the penalty, often severe

The ball had come off “Rabbit’s” bat, that couldn’t be denied
Still, backyard cricket, as in life, things aren’t that cut and dried

“Pig” was due to take the crease and Lindy Dent to bowl
But “Pig” was only half way through his thirteenth sausage roll

With two cream buns on standby he needed time to feed his face
So he cracked a can of “Passiona” and had “Rabbit” take his place

A meeting of the rules committee was hastily convened
Lindy and “Squirrel” there to ensure no laws were contravened

They interviewed the players; the cat, the dog, the umps
All except for “Spanner”: They were using him for stumps

Common sense made up for what they lacked in orthodoxy
The ruling? “Pig” was batsman: “Rabbit” merely proxy

“Pig” let rip a fart to show he thought their ruling stunk
Told them there was no way he was climbing up that trunk

An example must be made: Justice would not wait
Lest anarchy took seed and spread to backyards cross the state

Lindy took the soft approach “We’ll make him bat left handed”
“Rabbit” went the jugular: He wanted “Pig’s” arse branded

“A can of dog food” “Squirrel” teased “Force old “Pig” to eat”
“Don’t be thick” “Rabbit” sneered “He’d think it was a treat”

In the end they tied him up, naked, to the pine
Stuffed and taped his mouth shut so they couldn’t hear him whine

They dragged the BBQ across, piled snags upon the grate
Then fanned the scent in “Pigsy’s” face and watched his eyes dilate

The veins protruded from his neck, his eyebrows twitched, then rose
Saliva, dammed, behind taped lips, erupted from his nose

His nostrils flared, then quivered: His cheeks and jowls flushed red
He shook so much he freed the ball – it dropped down on his head

“Pig” saved the day, and his reward? Three stitches in his crown
It’s a hard climb to the top, they say, but it’s harder coming down

© Copyright 2012 Ian Bland

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