Horace laced up his beloved Doc Martens
Prescribed for violent altercations
Ox blooded and bloody weapons
Battle scarred and battered
Essential kit for tours of duty
The last of the Skinheads dressed for battle
The intimidating black gum shield
Filled out his gaunted haunted face
Taking pride in his denims
He gripped his chain and took a swing
The old battle cry resonating from his arthrithic throat
'Ger up ye bastard!
He worked up a frenzy and beat the crap out of his council bedsit
'Taste that steel! What did ye bleedin' say?
'Are ye lookin' at me ye toe rag!
He still knew his lines even at eighty one
It was time to bow out
He needed some one to bow out on
Skinheads are funny like that - Involve other people for the crack
The Teddy boys were juking it up
Fifties nights for the decrepits
Ducks arses groomed and combed
Dry cleaned rockers in dry cleaned crombies
'That'll be the day when I die'
The old vinyl floor filler whippin' up the adrenalin
Defibrillators and oxygen on standby
Horace burst in then!
He took out two Teddys and worked his Docs hard
Hard men are still hard in old age
Once a hardo always a hardo they say
The chain was swinging now!
Wrecking the jukebox and escalating the battle
'Come on ye bastards! roared Horace
Five teddies were downed now
Then the beer bottle came crashing down
Horace staggered as his head burst open
His heart packed in and called it a day
A smile came to his face as he took one final look
His Doc Martens oxblooded and bloody
The last of the Skinheads bowed out
His chain by his side
YOU ARE READING
Weird Reads
PoetryPoems & Prose to read when your coffee is on the brew. A mixture of the light and dark in life. Strange writing from the pen of a weird mind. Caution advised before reading.
