POEM OF THE DAY

Nicky Knocky Nine Door

The streets are real but the people have gone,

The house numbers quoted are totally wrong.

I’m being P.C. to meet current times, The only thing that’s real are the lyrical rhymes.

There’s a house in Lindbridge drive it’s Number thirty three,

In the back garden there’s a granny smiths, apple tree.

Let’s meet at Mrs Blair’s chippy, try not to be late,

Mr Cherry will be in the Gilpen pub, I guess around eight.

Franky could sneak in, open the gate to the back,

John can climb up first, He’s definitely the best at that. Clambering to the lofty top he can pluck apples for free,

We can share them out when he drops them out the tree. Milburn keeps toot while we quietly sneak out,

If anybody is coming “Milly”can give us a shout.

Nash down the street across to Haughton drive,

Get up to big Colin’s house, it’s number fifty five.

Now we change the game to Knocky nine door,

Maurice ties cotton onto the knocker of number four.

Serge yanks the thread, it rattles rat a tat tat,

The door opens, Mrs Young shouts” who on earth is that”.

No one is there so she firmly slams the door,

Again the knocker rattles to annoy her even more.

We keep on doing it until she goes insane,

Mr Dobson shouts ” telling a copper About your game”

Stan yells “if you snitch like that, we’ll egg your front door, “

We can nick eggs from Terry’s, we only need about four.

Halfway up Ravenshill opposite Mr Foster’s house,

Terry can sneak in his kitchenette, quiet as a mouse. Adolescent, mischievous devilment, No harm meant or done,

No turf war, drugs or knives and definitely not a gun.

The old guard still preaching “youth’s wasted on the young,”

But with my rose-coloured glasses I see only harmless fun.

JIMMY EVANS