The Big Pink

The final hero of this tale moved in

  When winter bit most hard. His cheeky grin

  Would not permit the ice to freeze. He came

  From England in a boat to make a claim

  On one spare bed. He got it. Friend

  Of old of James and Emmett, Shauner's yen

  Was singing, rhyming slang and smoking tea.

  So room was made for him on the settee.

  About this time two drum kits in the house

  Were merged – both Red and Lev's – like shooting grouse

  The snare drum rilled both night and day. At 3

  AM John McIlroy would take a spree

  Of beating 'pon 'em – in the Moon would shine,

  Delighted that his favourite kit-combine

  Was put to such good use. The other chaps

  Were neither here nor there about the claps

  And drills and crashes that awoke them. In

  The risen day both Lev and Erwan din

  A good wee number, Lev on kit, guitar

  Being played by Erwan, jamming like a car

  That from a hill-top handbrake loosed rolls down

  Unstoppable until it breaks the crown

  Of some poor passerby. At this time too

  Creative pinning on the wall gave view

  To war and life and David Dickinson

  Near nude; this grotesque sight was merely one

  Of many. War we've heard of, in the first

  Short canto; but not all was there-in versed.

  For instance, futile protest gainst the War

  In February was followed by some more

  Of equal ineffectiveness. Iraq

  Was subject to a mass air-based attack

  On March nineteenth, with land troops later on.

  When Bush joined Blair for tea on Hillsborough lawn

  A lot of people tried to force them out.

  But sadly peelers blocked the simplest route

  And crowds are dumb, so nothing happened. At

  Another protest later on the flat

  Of many truncheons paid those hapless folk

  Who lay upon the road a lesson. Smoke

  Was seen but fire was not; the protests pet-

  ered out, as often happens when defeat

  Seems so completely certain.

  Erwan chose

  Around this time, to give up smoke; although

  Tis more alike to say that for a half

  A year he'd been attempting this - the graph

  Of his consumption spiked and troughed like seas

  Are pounded by a storm. When drinking teas

  He rarely stopped at one – much more and more;

  And then, when sober, horrified, forbore

  To ever touch the stuff again. Quite soon,

  Discovering that he loved it he consumed

  E'en greater volumes than he had done thence.

  This tricky situation made him tense;

  If casual smoking could not do, but binge,

  He couldn't smoke at all. The rusty hinge

  Of his sobriety complained and creaked;

  About six times he pushed upon it; sneaked

  A sneaky joint or two and then was high

  All week. 'So what?' you ask. 'To deify

  The drug is dumb; but so to demonise

  It; what harm does it do to mobilise

  The faculties of mind by any means,

  Including THC?' Agreed. I'm keen

  To disabuse the ignorant, afraid

  To see things from another view – the aid

  That good dope gives you is immense, with bliss

  And joyfulness attendant. But, there's this:

  The fear that all your thoughts are false; and that

  You've been deceived; you start to smell the rat

  That rots there in the corner. Feeling fear

  And loathing for these thoughts you try to steer

  Your mind away; but helpless, stay transfixed

  By all the weight of all the world. The bricks

  That form the founding of your knowledge are

  Most fragile, and to bash them into spar

  In one long frenzied burst may leave one free

  Of falsehood and delusion, but may be

  That same act will expose us to those harms

  That terrified us. Dope doth have it's charms

  And drawbacks too; in fact its virtues are

  Demerits and vice versa.

  A cigar

  And whiskey is one thing; and poker is

  Another. Give them both to someone, his

  Is happiness abundant. Five did play

  That fine and happy evening, fifth of May

  Two thousand three. The five lay five pees down

  So five coins formed five five pees in a round

  That was remarked on: five was everywhere

  The cards were five; the coins; the pot the square;

  The hand that held the hand, the fingers – count

  Your limbs and count your head. This odd amount

  A prime and elemental force defines

  So many features of our world. These lines

  Of poetry, pentameter iambic. Note

  The number of the cantos, five; the tote

  Of lines two fifty in each piece. Derive

  That five plus five times five times five times five

  Describes the sum of all the lines inscribed

  Within this poem. This fiveness was ascribed

  To some deep irony, but truth be told

  Tis aluminium foil that forms the gold.

  The livingroom lay empty for a time

  The spare room used instead, e'en though to climb

  Those sets of stairs was arduous task. Played Quake

  From dusk to dawn, and blew the dust to make

  Those endless spirals spin in shafts of light.

  In James' room, young Hamish, jobless, quite

  Prepared for any role, considered work

  Inside the Pink House, butling, for the perk

  Of food and lodging. But the way that James

  Tossed orange peel upon the floor with claims

  That Hamish ought to pick it up and thank

  James for the privilege the notion sank

  And orange peel remained on floor. The sun

  Was bright those days and zoning free and fun;

  The frisbee flew from hand to hand. At six

  AM, returning from a night, for kicks

  Young Barold, Hamish, Red and John did lift

  A crate of fruit and veg they found – a gift

  From MDS, the testing crowd. To steal

  Became an interest shared by all. Concealed

  Behind the name of Willy Stroker, books

  Were got for nothing. Scotcall quickly took

  An interest in what debt was owed and sent

  A stream of threats in letters. This event

  Was followed by the "Robin Books" affair,

  Successful too. Nick Diamonds, Robin's heir,

  Did try for gems, but did not get. The heist

  Preeminent of these was also spiced

  The most with fear – of waiting for a chap

  To come and read the meter – for the gap

  Between the readings was immense; abuse

  Of electricity had drawn a noose

  Around the necks of all our heroes. Stoves

  Were used to heat the kitchen. Many strove

  To keep their rooms like jungles. Erwan strolled

  Downstairs one morning, then froze icy-cold

  When someone knocked upon the door. He signed

  To McIlroy to keep away – behind

  This fear lay thoughts of all the folk the Pink

  House should avoid. This time, they'd been on brink

  Of letting in the meter man. Instead,

  A card dropped though the door. Upon it read:

  "I called today but you weren't in." So N

  IE did estimate
the bill, and ten

  Days later in it came. Astonishment

  And glee: a lowly figure did present

  To marveling eyes, a tenner each, and not

  Ten hundred as the most of us there thought

  It ought to be.

  What is does oft not match

  What ought to be. We run through some bad patch

  And so it was for Emmett. Meaning that

  The drugs, the job, the girl, he took, begat

  Him pain and misery for near a year.

  For Tesco is no job, a till cashier,

  Through boredom getting stoned at work and home;

  Relationships not based on rock but loam

  And sinking through the yellow sand, he found

  At last some mud to rest on. Badly browned,

  Both he and Claire took one month's leave from work

  The breakup took a longer time. To lurk

  Forever in this though was not his wont

  Young Emmett was alright, in time; the gaunt

  Look turned to impish. But all that's outside

  Our remit. Help came, Lev and Erwan fried

  A giant lunch, and talked, and watched Stallone

  Destroying helicopters on his own

  And when the Big Pink closed all three plus Meabh

  Moved to – Dunluce.

  The thing that Hamish gave

  The final push to leave, is murky; but

  It happened on the night a violent brute

  Crashed into Levin's car. (MacHill). When once

  The dust was settled and the hubcap fronts

  Were valued for their use as ash trays – then

  Came knocking at the door in state unzen

  Young Hamish. Seemingly he'd met some man

  Who asked for cup of tea, but whose real plan

  Was something else, as Hamish found out. This

  Was likely sodomy; he still resists

  Attempts to talk about it.

  Lev and Neil

  And Sheila came to take a certain zeal

  For philosophic talk and joined a group

  Where logic, metaphysics, moral hoops

  And knowledge were discussed. Like having sex

  With animals; the question they did vex

  Was whether this was always wrong. And Tim

  Would argue to the one conclusion grim:

  Your point of view entailed that you agreed

  That eating babies was a sinless creed.

  What can we know for sure? It is obscure

  No less because a mist will reassure

  Us folk that all is well. For instance when

  The bottle opener was thrown again

  From out the house. This two-armed screw was flung

  Because one always picked it up among

  The debris, playing with the arms; and lack

  Of will so manifest is like to crack

  One up if one keeps at it. It returned

  For Barry's leaving party; he discerned

  That spending his next year in Oz would be

  A better use of time.

  The summer, free

  Of worry and exams began then, June;

  Young Erwan, Sheila, thought it opportune

  To visit Greece. The famous Redbeard chose

  To celebrate the summer without woes

  By drinking cider round Malone. The cars

  Were forced to stop as Redbeard in his jars

  Took rests upon the bonnets. But no rest

  Did Henman take at Wimbledon – his best

  Demanded and received; his pluck and dare

  Excelling all we'd seen before. The glare

  Of so much adulation rattled him

  However; all our shouts of "Go on Tim!"

  Did not suffice. Indeed it may be why

  He lost. But never will his laurels die;

  He moved us all to nearly clean the Pink

  That June; a task from which most folk would shrink

  With coiling liver. Half the rubbish gone;

  The toast removed from bath at last; the lawn

  Of black mould round the kitchen, that was left

  But bracket mushroom from the shower, cleft.

  The pizza boxes neatly tucked away

  Behind the sofa in the corner. They

  Who did this cleaning spent at least some hours

  Upon it. Reconfirming that the powers

  A landlord has are much too much, they kept

  Well over half of our deposits.

  Stepped

  You into this house now, you'd find nought there:

  No folk, no beer, no bongs, the dinnerwares

  All dust-filled with the tracks of spiders through

  Em. This is Entropy, the hitherto

  Unrecognised protagonist. We owe

  To it the randomness with which things go

  These verses are a paean to it. Yes

  Let everyone avow their praise: To Mess!

  ***

  FIRST TEXT