Thursday 31 January 2013

Lay Grouter, One Too Many (Pt. 11)

Our Grouter a lad of commendable needs
But with little left else to commend him
Was stopped at the door by a man with a stare
Made stern by eye-weights at the gym
A man whose wit came not from a book
But impressed on his brain by a fist
Who cared not at all for the needs of our lad
For a drink, and a dance, and a tryst
A man who guarded this door by the club
Against any that might care to enter
A man with a talent for reaching down throats
And returning with lungs and placenta
A man who on seeing our brave hero Grouter
Round the door that remained quite ajar
A jar that had once contained pickles and piss
Asked if Grouter had truly come far?
He had, and he said, describing his journey
His cunning, his vim, and his daring
Of the trials overcome and of villainy foiled
Of the dangers beyond which was his caring
The doorman on hearing and quite clearly rapt
Wrapped a hand to his cabbage-like ear
To better to hear of our Grouter’s tall tale
And at whose conclusion he let out a cheer
Yet the doorman remaining ever true to his nature
And as sweet as cream-curdled ├ęclair
Decided that the lout who had travelled so far
Had better just fuck off right back there
The Grouter retreated past a line and to jeers
From Kylies, and Kayleighs, and Katies
Who dressed all uniquely and all just the same
Had dressed like their mums in the 80s
Not put out by their hair he sought in the line
One whose late husband had been lost in the Indo...
To whom he added an ‘n’, with a flick of his pen
And with a wink then climbed in through the window

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