Side by side on a bottle-strewn beach, sit Arthur the Cone Headed, and parchment skinned Viet George, watching an industrial sun drown itself in the endless ocean tide, which swirls and froths around their feet, and echoes the amber water inside their rebellious stomachs.
Grey tides of evening and cold coffee
Flood through the
alimentary sewer,
Where once the amber water
flowed.
Stomach where a pounding ocean
Sings a song of
purple sands.
Outside, Arthur,
Head of cone
And nose
of yogi;
Gill of green,
And arm of needle,
Darkly
hissed at Viet-George,
“Oh count my toes and check their
footage,
And wash thy smallface ear!”
Yellow George, the daisy footed,
Kid of glove and boot
exchanges,
Where once the amber water flowed,
Dripping,
streaming, down the chin jaw,
Makes a swamp of egg and
scrud.
Where now Georgey
Says the word,
And many
others,
Vowels of dirt
And phrase of censor,
With
smoke from nostrils, threatens Arthur,
Who sues for peace
and says all tactful,
“Hold my foot, thou smallface churl!”
Red floods of blooding and mashed molars
Mingle with the
acid ocean
Fairy tendrils of pink violence,
Red the
blood of Arthur’s downfall,
Cobwebbed in the spider
salt,
Victim Arthur,
Head of fist
And George’s
anger,
And of void,
And messy brain-cells,
Yodelled
warsnort and was beaten;
Smashed into the lobster
water,
His pounding, roaring, big-froth bier.
Black sky of Styx, horned moon of silver
Float peaceful
round the warring factions,
Soothe their black berserker
hearts,
Rumps of sand and Christian kindness,
Hand in
glove with cold night wind.
Where once Arthur,
Kiss of
life
And respiration;
Lung of air
And thankful
choking,
Sat by George and made sand castles,
Where once
moat-whiskey flowed in plenty,
Life-amber, all peaceful to
the sea.
by M.T.W Dillon
Bourne Grammar School Upper 6th Form
1967