The Big Pink

A lot occurred tween one year and the next

  That vital though it was will not in text

  Be put; nor could it be – by me. For one,

  I do not know the half of what was done,

  What happened or to who. For two, although

  My jelly eyes did witness half the show

  (Or less) I didn't always understand

  The plot, the serpent twists. I only scanned

  The surface and misread what I there saw.

  This poem that you read is mainly straw

  Left over from the harvest. Those who seek

  Some grains of truth herein will have to sneak

  Those particles inside themselves.

  Enough

  Of this – tis time to look at other stuff

  That happened.

  Neil and Barry finished class

  In April, did exams in May; both passed

  With flying colours. Emmett meanwhile dropped

  His classes altogether. James did opt

  To work on with his music. Monuments

  Of carelessness of his invention lent

  Themselves as joints upon which to roll

  The joints our heroes used to decontrol

  Their thoughts.

  On one mid-April morn

  Young Levin from a window did adorn

  The yard with one lit petrol bomb. Nor did

  He think this worth a mention. Thenabouts

  Ole Stankey first appeared, to make folk doubt

  The sanity of others. Gluing coins

  To tempt the passersby them to purloin

  Provided entertainment. "Ah, good wench,"

  Became a favourite phrase. The awful stench

  Of unclean fridges made its mark. All this

  The flood of history was like to miss;

  But in this stream our heroes were submerged

  And knew of little else. They each did urge

  The other on in endless deeds of reck;

  The stronger tea became, the longer trek

  Through unknown streets of Belfast. Burned, the flag

  That symbolised the US. In the bag:

  Two hundred sherberts, eaten all at once.

  For this is how a journeyman confronts

  His so-called "destiny". The end of June

  Saw Baz and Emmett leave the Pink Lagoon

  To move in with a Punk. Chris also went,

  To Dublin; he was meant to supplement

  His study with some work experience. To

  The Holy Lands did Hamish go. Review

  The previous Canto for a simple trace

  Of that long fateful story. – In their place:

  John McIlroy took Chris' room; while James

  Took Barold's old, to stop him going lame

  From climbing three steep sets. – In James' room

  When later it lay empty like a womb

  There in a cupboard were discovered heaps

  Of finished Lucozade. He liked to keep

  The voided bottles. – Catherine also left.

  To her room Red inmoved himself; he cleft

  Of jaw and red, quite red, of hair. July

  Saw Erwan taking Emmett's place. To lie

  Beneath a disused curtain was his wont,

  Until he brought some things from home. The haunt

  That James forsook was filled by Aaron. Fat,

  And fond of shooting BB weapons at

  The wheelchair-bound from window high, he stuck

  A picture of a bending lady up

  Whose caption read: "Cum in my bum." Next door

  To Aaron, Hamey's empty lodge, a corps

  Of odd-like folk did occupy. The one

  Who paid the rent was Geraldine. The fun

  They had. Or rather all the fights. Her friend

  A deaf and gay young man whom God did send

  To try her. Then, the middle-agéd man

  Who traced them from the pub and for the span

  Of Gerry's time there called least twice a week

  To moan about his wife and solace seek;

  – She did not know his name.

  This was year two.

  The house by now was signif'ly askew

  With bulging from the liv'room wall and mounds

  Of rubbish building up. Indeed the bounds

  That had been tested in year one were gone.

  There was no good or bad. A pristine lawn

  Was tilled and overturned; and sprouting from

  The mess were healthy weeds. For some, the grum

  And ghoulish grist was pleat with mass of growing;

  For others shit was what it seemed, ongoing.

  The banister from up the stairs was ripped;

  A club was fashioned from it, firmly gripped

  With satisfaction. Through the kitchen door

  A knife was whacked. Sheer laziness forbore

  The furframed shower head to be wiped clean

  Or bracket mushroom chopped away. The dream

  The house became became quite strange; the range

  Of everyday emotion and exchange

  Did broaden out. The flow began to shift

  The heavy silt. The moorings came adrift.

  Twas inabout this time that Erwan met

  A friend of Neil and Barry's; thus was set

  In train a seque of meetings, films and pubs

  That he and Sheila joined to. Then too stubs

  And scraps from papers, pasted on the wall,

  Were used to tell the story of the squall

  That swept the world. In chess, the stakes increased;

  A ladder rose to climb, and every beast

  Did trial for the crown. At Hallowe'en,

  But one year since the fruice had drunken been

  By Hamish; now twas Erwan's turn to drink

  A trifle much. MacHill he glasses clinked

  To shot-glass chess. With vodka in each piece,

  And loser drinking lost this liquid feast

  Was largely drunk by Erwan. Drunk indeed;

  When playing games by flipping coin decreed

  Determining who drunk the shot, he blind

  To James' turning of the coin was. Mined

  Like some mid-century harbour, up he went

  To bed, collapsing three feet from his tent.

  So Neil and Levin tucked the lad in bed.

  Twas now the mine was triggered. Spews of red

  And half-digested dinner – vodka too –

  Came poring from his mouth. This awful stew

  Both Lev and Neil at once agreed to leave

  To Erwan. When he consciousness retrieved

  Next morning, Erwan duly saw the mess

  And so deduced he'd lost the game of chess

  And most of dinner too.

  While all of this

  Went on, a man they did but slightly miss

  When to their phone calls no response was made

  – They got another dealer. This betrayed

  The sad but blameless fact: when dealers go

  There's none that wonder where. But even though

  This general rule holds up, in this case not;

  We'll hear the story. The first dope they bought

  In Belfast – James and Emmett's who I mean –

  They bought from Dessie Truesdale. This unclean

  And scrawny man from hence supplied the hash

  That kept the Pink ones thoughtful. Dessie's stash

  Notoriously smelt of oil and sweat;

  But still did what it ought. "Hi. Can I get

  "A taxi from the church, for two," we'd ask.

  But Des would oft forget the code. His task

  Was simplified by the address. He sold

  For £20 a 1/4. Heat or cold,

  He'd turn up at the door. – Once just to see

  If anybody wanted some. Then he

  Was suddenly no more. His phone was tried

  But silence answered. Other dealers plied
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  His trade in place. Old Desmond wasn't dead;

  Not yet. But certainly that hanging dread

  Was on him. Everywhere he looked there leaped

  The shadow of a man and gun. He slept

  For two hours every night. The fear and pain

  Prevented him from thinking straight. The game

  Of running for his life was on. He knew

  That some obscure but vital debt was due

  With interest. Johnny was involved – "Mad Dog"

  Adair – so Dessie sought to lift the fog

  Of vaguely hinted threat by dating he

  Who used to be the Dog's gay lover. – See

  How hate and violent crime can yet give rise

  To love of free and Californian guise?

  Well, maybe not quite that, but closer than

  The local average. Dessie met this man

  At Giant's Ring, an ancient circle fort

  Just south of Belfast. There they made some sport

  A 'tryst' as tabloids put it. Dessie gained

  But little from this carefully maintained

  But somewhat soulless friendship. Interview

  Him all he might, the man gave not a clue

  Regarding Dessie's standing with the heads.

  In Winter's darkest week the blood was shed

  Of Dessie's closest mate. Jon Stewart was shot

  Quite dead. From this point Dessie watched the blot

  Of ink-black night descend. His house became

  A tomb for lifeless dread; each day the same.

  He watched from out his curtains for the gun

  Twice daily tweaked them, wondering would it come

  At night or in the impudence of day?

  It didn't really matter either way.

  In March Mo Courtney with Egyptian friends

  Came knocking at his door. Did they intend

  To kill him? No. They only beat his arms

  And legs and head. They did him as much harm

  As wouldn't end him. Stole his phone as well.

  When Levin tried to ring he couldn't tell

  Whose voice it was. (He speedily hung up).

  Though Dessie's wounds were hell he did not stop

  To let them heal; he promptly fled this place

  To England. Johnny at this time was based

  In jail, but not for long. Before Des fled

  He stole both Johnny's dogs, two hounds pure bred.

  And so for these past ten short years the taunts

  Have periodically come: you want

  Your dogs back but you never will.

  When Neil

  Had finished his degree in June the deal

  With Emmett, Lev and Baz to see the world

  Did not transpire; like most plans it unfurled.

  Both Neil and Barry got a job; the aim

  Was selling goods by phone. They both became

  Exceptionally disenchanted when

  To make them into better businessmen

  they had to stand on desks if goods unsold

  Remained at day's end. Neil and Baz soon bowled

  Themselves well out. Barry took some work

  Collecting glasses in a bar. A clerk

  Did Neil become, in Windsor House down town.

  This hardly thrilled him; better though than clown

  About on desks. He worked eight stories up

  Green netting on the windows meant to stop

  Young folks from plunging in despair. Once in

  A while, attempts were made to pull the pin

  On large explosive bombs outside the place

  They'd have to take half day. It left no trace

  Of joy on Neil Steed's features to be kept

  Employed thus. Luckily he was adept

  At finding life good where he could. TV

  Served up a treat: The Life of Mammals. Ye

  Who know not David Attenborough, deplore

  Your wasted life. This kept Neil Steed more

  Than happy, for an hour a week. But soon

  The house grew colder, heatless as the moon;

  And Neil began to have his doubts. One night

  He felt a strange sensation, quite like fright.

  He listened to the walls – a low-pitched thrum;

  And radiators shaking; like a drum

  Was numbering his days. Dirty sinks;

  The bulging of the wall; the fridgey stinks

  Oppressed our red haired friend. The final straw

  Came late December. Mice were seen to gnaw

  At binbags in the kitchen. Traps were laid

  And one caught just on Pseudomithras stayed,

  Too cold to rot, for three whole weeks. So Neil,

  Accepting that this state was not ideal,

  Moved in with Sheila, Eoin, Mark. And then

  He got a phone call stating where and when

  He could begin his PhD.

  Survive

  One final canto – the final one is FIVE!

  Canto Five