Читать книгу Just Where You Left It... and Other Poems - David Roche - Страница 13

School rules are often stupid,

To do with bells and pegs.

Shirts must be tucked in trousers

And socks cover half of your legs.

But lunchtime brings The Great Escape.

The Dining Hall is Colditz.

The menu is from World War II

And you cannot eat the old bits.

There’s food you won’t find anywhere else:

Spam fritters and school liver.

And turkey twizzlers that made their name

Because of Jamie O’liver.

The dinner ladies patrol the scene

With Gestapo-looking features.

They’ll spot any food that’s left on your plate

And report you to the teachers.

So the people who are legends,

And the ones who set you free,

Are the Food Escape Committee;

“F.E.C.” to you and me.

We’re not talking here about everyday feats

Like faking certain allergies.

Or scraping eggs behind radiators

And aversion to the calories.

We’re talking total heroes here,

The ones with real worth.

The sort who’d dig the tunnels

And then disperse the earth.

Boys like “Goose” McGinty

With a Brussels sprout in his locket.

Or ones like “Mad Max” Redmond,

Who hid bolognese in his pocket.

Or Josh “White Laces” Russell

With spaghetti in his shoes,

And his pencil case containing

Hidden beetroot for the loos.

But the ultimate name we all revere,

With his smuggling of fish pie,

Was Ben “The Mole” Carruthers,

Who hid the lot inside his tie.

Never was so much smuggled out

By the few who ate so little.

They fought for menus “a la carte”

And for doughnuts with jam in the middle.

“We want puds with custard and cream.

We want lychees rather than leeches.

We know our expedience will improve ingredients

And we’ll fight them on the peaches.”