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Tuesday, 19 January 2010


The ratatatat

And the heard fattened crack

Of shots bounce back off white, concrete walls

Small boys flap without flair

Like a ceased Fred Astaire

'Tip Tap' against dulled varnished floors

A bitch with a crick

And a holstered thick stick

Wears leotards and tights past her age

And roars with gruff message

The rhythmical lesson

Like to men on a Sandhurst parade

The young desperados

Still dance with bravado

In the face of the unlearnt regret

Smile dumbly whilst thudding

But dream about gunning

When their rents come, too late, to collect.

Steel shoes worn like horses

Without reasonable cause

Except for to tap, skank and drum

Leave little boys knackered

Ears ring from the racket

But at least, for a week, they are done.

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