Wednesday, 5 August 2015

Dead Cool, Macho Man


Overheard on a bus:

TEENAGER 1: It’s all very well for people to say don’t carry a gun, but what do they know, yeah? It’s dead cool, right? Besides, you gotta protect yourself. F**k the do-gooders. What kind of world do they think we live in? You gotta get real, yeah?

TEENAGER 2: What if someone gets hurt, killed even?

TEENAGER 1: So it ain’t gonna be me, right?

TEENAGER 2: I dunno…

TEENAGER 1: (Rising to leave as bus stops) You dunno know f**k all.

An elderly lady sitting next to me shook her head, "He’s right about one thing. What do we know about the world they live in? And whose fault is that, I wonder...?"

I said nothing. What could I say?

This poem is a villanelle.

DEAD COOL, MACHO MAN

Finally, managed to get me a gun
and spreading the word,
didn’t ask who’ll carry my coffin

At first, life was a buzz, good fun,
but all that disappeared;

finally, managed to get me a gun,

Needed to prove I was someone,
get me some street cred;

didn’t ask who’ll carry my coffin

Shouting at just about everyone,
but no one ever heard;
finally, managed to get me a gun,

Joined a gang, mustn't let 'em down,
show I was shit scared;
didn’t ask who’ll carry my coffin

Got into a street fight, shot down
dripping with blood...
Finally, managed to get me a gun,
didn’t ask who’ll carry my coffin

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010; 2015

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