Tuesday, 18 October 2016

Oddball Faux Rock n' Roll Joe

Oddball faux
Rock n' Roll Joe,
Fiddles and picks
Orange pips
From teeth
Gnashed between
The 7th and the 8th,
On a lowly pew,
Wi' overpriced
IPA sips.

Get the surveyors in
To look at this,
It's drastic, mate.
Not the
Peeling ceiling,
It's the
Somehow free-wheelin'
With less than 5 bob,
In this half-packed
Afternoon rub-a-dub.

Scratchcard table propped
Goths in the corner
Stay away.
He's always
Ligging in the rigging,
But never
Til one day a fat
Rock tattooed fist
WILL put his scrawn

He once was Elvis.
His hands' wrinkles were
Filled with plaster dust.
Now they gape as
Openly as his gob an'
His barmaid directed lust.

With a hops n' scotch stumble,
Waves in the phrase:
"To hell with this!"
All knowing that:
This cider black sticky floor,
For tomorrow,
Be his, for a bit,
Once more.


Cov 451