These as you may have become painfully aware, are my attempts at being extempore, which probably just means they are crap & too baggy around the edges. The racist diatribe of the 2nd poem is spoken, unashamedly in various pubs in my home town, it is also written in the dialect of that place, so if you can’t understand it please ask & i’ll explain. i want to clarify that i do not condone the racist diatribe of the 2nd poem. i am thinking my disappointment & disgust out loud.
The high watermark of progressive society
is an easy life & i can’t see why.
It makes me long for the days when
i cut my teeth on the dictionary
with words like ambulatory, nictitate, micturition
smooched sibilants like i were supping on a piña colada.
or when i discovered lallate & found
it hilarious, a labial hilarity that made milky waves.
Back home, y’hear it all
the time in taverns & Wetherspoons
from lips foamy with stout & ale
& too much guff & garter
y’ka call ‘em Chink nor Paki
no more, they c’n call us Brit tho’
— foreignurs (sic) in our own cuntry (sic).
Crimbo’ll be next you’ll see.
There are no pharmacists that stock
a remedy for this sort of ignorance;
& what’s more frightening is
that neither logic nor fact come in handy.
English people are so full of shit
sometimes, it stifles me.