Ascent
Lingering somewhere at the
back of the mind
is the thought that you
arose
from primeval slime,
dragged up combing algae
from your hair -
it’s not a pretty one, I
suppose.
I’ve heard it’s locked in
your genetic code
and that it was something
of a struggle
for single celled
organisms
ascending from soup to get
a bigger bang
out of one night stands -
you’d be queuing for nine
hours of more.
That’s you at the door – a
groundling
and if you want your supper
you’d better sing - only
allowed to bring
two cans, one for her, one
for him.
You say you like the taste
of Pimms,
but I’m not buying it.
All that’s swimming in
prebiotic broth
left you knackered, puffed
out,
but you’ll tackle the
climb gamely.
They flirted with calling
it
but reverted to type
when they saw that flick
about a Welsh hill
with ideas above its
station.
A representative of your
nation,
intent on planting a flag
before some Norwegians get
there first,
better band together, form
a group,
Tim’s in the studio, soundbites
on a loop -
and Lennon could’ve sampled
that -
maybe rain tomorrow, you
never know,
herded in through the
gates and off you go
with a whistle and a quick blow.
Find a likely spot, cock a
leg, spray,
here’s twin screens
showing play,
so affect some interest
and if the camera picks
you out - wave,
look at me, ma, top of the
world,
And with every shout your
breaths do mingle –
munching on the last
picnic at hanging rock,
stench of strawberry
stout, lager top,
egg and cress, potted
salmon paste
and all about you, there’s
waste -
a cluttered collection of birthday
wrap,
making for such jocund
company
that flutters and dances
in the breeze
tangled amongst daffodils, snagged in trees,
time, gentlemen and new
balls, please.
That slime that coalesced
into thought
is just a muffled scream from
a distant court,
full of sound, fury, 12
man jury,
all stifled roars, muted
claps,
and your line judge sports
his old black cap -
calls it, bringing play to
an end,
left wondering why
you bothered to ascend.
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