POEM: Rusty Bald Bill



Here’s to Rusty Bald Bill looking out on the Mersey 
He wears a wet plazzy bag and hand knitted jersey 
Made by eco warriors who wrap scarves around trees

He’s had children on shoulders and a tied on mankini
He’s exposed in our heatwaves and when the tide’s below zero
Looking calm as he climbs up the mountain in view

He sees big ships with containers filled up to burst
He sees swimmers who don’t seem that arsed about germs
His heart sinks inside as dogs piss on his leg

With tin-man emotion he longs for companions
He views romantic walks and dog walking families
A tidal blanket washing in allows him to sleep

Underwhelmed by jokes about his welded on knackers
Impartial to spray painting graffiti attackers 
In his Queen’s Guard style stance he mulls over revenge

His well worn patina is a leg chafing weapon
For the short wearing divvies climbing up to his melon
He laughs as they pick rusty chips from their thighs

I’m sure Rusty Bald Bill is a good lad to talk to
Advice about what river path for you and your hike sticks to walk to 
Wishing he could follow you there

He craves for a view of that bit near to Burbo
To spy on couples in the car park late at night like a pervo
While the rest of us pretend to view stars in the sky

Acknowledge poor Bill, take some just to let on
Because he’s lonely although he’s so near to his brethren 
He dreams of ‘Another Place”

By Emma Seasman














Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

POEM: Mates

I like mates who don't need selfies to prove our friendship's worth, there's no need for Facebook check ins for every meeting place we share I like mate’s who don’t demand my time in every vacant spot For who months pass without a text, then we pick up where we left off I like mate’s who don’t beg allegiance for all of their opinions you know, those one’s who hog the limelight ( and treat their friendship group as minions ) I like mates content with silence, who don’t need to fill each pause our chats without performance ‘cause simple company’s the cause I like mates without a tournament to tick a success box Competition with a mate can make a friendship hit the rocks I like mates without a mandate, who don’t demand I take instruction Who love when I’m a knob head coz their tickled by dysfunction I like mates who hate my fella when I’m angry with him too But then revert when I’ve made up with him, coz they respect my altered view I like mates who know it’s not personal, wh...
Read more

Mi Arle Fella, Johnny Wok

Image
Mi Arle Fella Johnny Wok was a legend, I called him the ginger Tom Jones There are plenty of stories about his life on the road It started with Lally teaching Johnny Wok to strum but the daft sod joined the army, just before Merseybeat had begun He was a terrible soldier, but great at escape He’d go AWOL routinely to go and Jam with his mates He bragged to his fellow squaddies about The Beatles prior their fame As he’d seen them play in Huyton before the whole world knew their name He ordered their first single from the NAAFI to share this wealth But as the sound crept off the record; Johnny Wok was cringing to himself “Please Please Me?” Like shite thee have Then he joined The Vaqueros, with Lally Stott at the front Then took over as singer after Lally moved on After those days had ended, the Horse Shoe took him on He was the regular in the 70s when he set out on his own That’s when Johnny Hyland was born, his stage name in the clubs Playing solo driven by Charlie, so he was not on hi...
Read more

Firefly

Image
A firefly in peripheral  A shiver in a coal warmed room A smell of cigarettes in clean air A voice heard when night falls A sunken heart and tightened throat  Welled eyes and scent deleted A home gapes with figure missing A hand no longer to be held  As you're enclosed with dust settled
Read more