there’s skeletor
on the pelaton
the invisible man
on the resistance band
the thing
on the rings
jabba the hutt
on the pull ups
the lost brain
on the cross trainer
gill man
on the pull down
dracula
on the squat rack
the basilisk
on the weight stack
Imhotep
on the pec deck
the abominable snowman
on some kinda
abdominal programme
T-Rex
in a tick vest
flexing
it’s all so vexxing
I don’t know why I bother with the gym
it’s so full of monsters I can’t get in
(with apologies to R. Browning)
It’s grim!
How everyone here just follows him
the oily piper in the streets
filling the barrels to the brim
to keep the engines fuming sweet
and stop the lights from going dim
as he plays the oil producers’ hymn
for profits fat and taxes thin
and holding back
the science that
might slow the earth’s sad tailspin
But yet!
governments LOVE the oil execs
who fill their coffers fat
so pumps and platforms they protect
from shouty types in beanie hats
who want a world that isn’t wrecked
replacing oil with cleaner tech
the dying order they reject
but the piper explains
it’s short term gain
and the kids’ll pick up the final cheque
if Chucky chucks chops in a butcher’s shop
how many rookie cops to stop
the plucky Chucky chucking?
how many shots
have the rookie cops got
when they see another chop
and mistake the steak
for a meaty make of Glock?
poor Chucky chop chucker
family man, long haul trucker
unlucky fucker
couldn’t make rent
savings spent
friends lament
his sad descent
an economic victim to a large extent
(the rookie cops get off of course
for lawful use of lethal force)
Halloween’s been cancelled
the bats have flit
the mummy is saying
her ghouls will be staying
back home in the family crypt
the ghosts are roosting
in shivering clumps
Frankenstein frankly
down in the dumps
the vampires stuck
in the castle cellar
under the floorboards
under the weather
huddled together
with only their thumbs to suck
the golem
is ho hum
lumpishly no fun
the werewolf
nowhere to be found
the killer clown
way outta town
the witch finally ditched
her broom and then hitched
for landings on easier ground
and all because they’d seen the news
the wars and cruelty had them confused
and honestly – what should they do?
they assumed that the humans
were suffering delusions
about monsters and who was who
so save your candy on halloween night
kick your pumpkin and curse
the monsters have quit
and you’d have to admit
they’re right – people are worse
was TV
important to me?
you bet
that’s why I’ll be buried
in an old TV set
circa 1973
and the priest administering the last TV Times to me
will be
Shaggy
from Scooby Doo
who’ll
gulp and point
slam the TV tie-in book and say ZOINKS!
then manically skedaddle
down the middle of the chapel
chased by a glowing sexton prowling
outside the batty church, growling
but who ultimately slips up
when he straightaway gets tripped up
by Daphne & Velma
sobbing beneath a big umbrella
which they use to hook ‘em
and when the cops put the cuffs on to book ‘em
the sexton cynically curls his lips
says he would have gotten away with it if it weren’t for them kids
and Scooby gets a Scooby snack
and the ceremony picks up pretty soon after that
led by Hong Kong Phooey and Spot the cat
through a cemetery of leaning screens
under a flyby of Wacky Races machines
as Top Cat
slowly takes off his hat
and Benny the Ball bawls
and The Brain and Office Dibble
stifle their sniffles
but everyone cheers when they hear a shout
Spot bangs the TV and I jump out
I’m sorry but THERE IS NO GOD
and you’d have to say
if there WAS, day to day
they’re doing a pretty terrible job
war, famine, cruelty, fennel
disease, deception
the film inception
having to put your dog in the kennel
why? why go to all that trouble
making sadness and suffering
bad teeth and buffering
from an eternity of inert but happy rubble?
just to have people who’ll tremble & praise them?
legions of clerics, holymen, priests
shamans in hats and fancy briefs
all terrified you won’t save them?
jeez. it’s like some kind of celestial baby
playing with armies
tornadoes, tsunamis
just ‘cos they’re bored and going crazy
there’s no such thing as an atheist in a fox hole
you say, looking smug
is that a fact? (smile / sigh / shrug)
well apparently not if you were born in Vauxhall
jim clayton 