Poems March 2005
Robby stretching his legs
First thing Im gonna do is swipe a car
and get myself back here. Course I can drive.
Its easy, a girl could do it. An Italian
girl could do it, couldnt you Joey? First thing.
Second thing, hook up with the Upton gang.
Do a little business, coin a phrase,
waste not want not, dig for victory
blah blah blah. Move up west. Next thing.
Next thing, well. Meet an American starlet.
They have them in their army, not starlets,
females, and their armys going to come,
I heard a rumour if were in a hole.
This? This aint a hole. This schools a hole
but we were just unlucky. Took a hit.
Like Mr Albie Rogers is pretending
happened to his house. And you, Jew-seppy,
what are you, vapour trail? We aint in a hole.
Our boysll see off Adolf. If we dont,
the stars of the United States, I tell you,
theyre trained and they fight dirty, theyre luscious.
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This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 23 Number 7, on page 35
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