"Boys will be Boys"
for all those who suffered at the hands of boys

boys will be boys
and do you know what they got
up to when you were not there
father
they called me names, they teased
me, they whipped me with towels
and drew blood, they headbutted
me, they twisted my arms, they
took my property, they turned
my bed into apple pies, they kicked
slippers at me, they threw things
at me, they made fun of my physique,
they laughed at my shyness; my
confidence in myself was undermined,
and my sense of inadequacy confirmed,

boys will be boys
and do you know what they got
up to when you were not there
God
they knocked on his door and dragged
him out into the street, and they called
him names, they taunted him, and they
pushed him into a wagon, and they struck
him for days, they starved him, they made
him do hard labor, they took away his friends,
and took away his family, and they took away
his life, and then they took away
my God
boys will be boys.



"tired of!"

tired of
tired of
tired of the prissy and the precious
of those who go round with wicker baskets
and collect adverbs and adjectives
cobalt blue thoughts, arabesque fantasies
which rhyme with expensive wall tiles
and they end up with other polished
artifacts that meet the house styles
of arts council funded magazines
where the finished product reigns
supreme
like something out of a Habitat
catalog

tired of
tired of
 you want to get an eric partridge
dictionary of slang and at random

without using a condom
of conformity
say fuck you,
assmunches,
you turds!
and party on dudes! party on!
tired of
tired of

the pretence of difference,
the so called eclectic and exotic
who quotes pound who was basically
unsound
and chants something in hindustani
something quite incomprehensible
something like servant boy get me
a glass of goats milk
and the otherness of other
why that's you in the mirror!
tired of
tired of
translating English into English

 

 


>From An Explanation of Japan
 
"The Greening of Japan"
subtitled "Goodbye trees"

i hear robert zimmerman
on the harmonica
singing "goodbye trees",
and then death comes along
and mows them down
and cuts them down at their knees
and their mothers come
to the site every now,
and again to place a bouquet
of flowers in remembrance
in front of the "jolly PA-STA"
restaurant, and if only trees
were kids, about so high
instead of these green and brown
things that take up space
and not so far away up goes
a block of family "mansions"
with the name of "famille garden"
and i hear robert zimmerman
on the harmonica
singing it used to be green and clean
and now its Green and obscene
and all those leafy things have gone
what were they? children?
and up the road there is a garage
with the sign "CLEAN"
and 4wds sit there in a monty
pythonesque skit, ready to
pounce upon something green
whether it be a tree, shrub, or
insect, and maybe something brown
like the lizard sunning itself on
the sidewalk, and, and, sounds
like kids talk, but it is the impatience
of watching them grow up tall
and seeing the birds collect in the foliage
and thinking this is GREEN,
and then the council must balance
its books but not its conscience,
so its cut down those things, those trees,
and up it goes the "jolly PA-STA"
a kitsch flagship of convenience
foodstuff, and there should be a jolly
roger flying, with boughs and leaves,
for it is goodbye trees , goodbye trees
and hello Spaghetti Bolognese.


stephen pain june 1999


written this Sunday
>



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