Читать книгу The Incomplete Tim Key - Tim Key - Страница 17

WAR AND PEACE AND RELIGION AND SHOPPING

Love it or loathe it, we all have an opinion on war. Funny to think that, generations ago, people were tumbling over the dunes with their archaic guns and blowing up Nazis with a view to ending war altogether. Of course, as time has gone on we find that the odd war does no real harm and, in fact, is good for things like technology, tourism and the nation’s sense of self worth. One thing’s for sure, I couldn’t do it myself. I’d enjoy the travelling side of it, of course, but I’d hate the other, well documented, downsides. For me the opening half hour of Schindler’s List provokes the same reaction as an episode of The Office – I’m behind the sofa, cringing; I can barely watch. The idea of staggering around on a beach looking for my own arm fills me with dread, quite honestly. Also, I am one of these people who overthinks things, so, even though I’d know, deep down, that I was being daft, I’d be worrying that a lot of the soldiers I was peppering with bullets might be really great guys. Of course, there’s no way of checking this, as, by the time you’re close enough to chat to them, or to see if there is common ground in terms of tastes in music et cetera, the evil buggers have peeled off a dozen pellets into your eye. I have talked to my father about this. He openly admits he took the coward’s way out and was born right at the very end of WWII. He has no great lust for war and, in his darker moments, has stated that he thinks there should be no more wars at all. The money saved, he argues, could be plunged into more sophisticated paintballing centres to satiate the needs of the bloodthirsty. On several occasions I have stated to him that without wars a large part of my income, of any poet’s income, would be hugely compromised. At this point he starts spouting nonsense like ‘Why can’t you write about peace?’ and we have to agree to disagree. To write poems where no one is suddenly obliterated by a bomb would be overwhelmingly disrespectful to the likes of Wilfred Owen, Siegfried Sassoon and those other brave balladeers who risked all to report on death for our entertainment. And so it is that I have devoted a whole section to war (with a couple of poems about religion and some shopping ones thrown in so we don’t slit our wrists at the horror of it all!).

POEM#681

‘THE RULES OF WAR’

Lee snuck off to get a crêpe and some beer.

When he came back to the trench his major gave him a right ticking off, including killing him with his revolver.

POEM#684

‘THE REALITIES OF WAR’

Oliver Hampton-Church,

Whose main trick was to pretend he was surrendering and then shoot Germans through his flag,

Eventually shot so many holes through it that it stopped covering up his gun enough, and a Japanese chap cut his head off.8

POEM#679

‘THE AWKWARDNESS OF WAR’

Matt was literally all over the place.

A bomb had banged near him and three chunks had hit him.

The worst one was about as big as a hubcap (if the car was as big as a Labrador).

It went woomph into his chin and he went woozy straight away.

He couldn’t see shit.

‘Horace! Horace!’

He yelled at the soldier next to him.

But things went from bad to worse.

Embarrassingly, it wasn’t Horace but a different man from another regiment.

Matt cringed and pretended he was calling past this ginger guy to an imagined Horace a little further towards the sea –

And safety.

POEM#329

UNTITLED

A Christian9

Noticed he was good at sprinting.

He arranged a 100 metre fun run for his congregation.

Not only did he finish a disappointing fifth,

But his vicar beat him wearing a gown and cassocks and clutching an orb.

POEM#1101

‘THE INCIDENT IN RYMAN’S’

Chris hadn’t seen Tania for about three years when they bumped into each other in Ryman’s and he forgot her name.

This was very embarrassing, to say the least.

But, typically, Chris talked his way out of trouble.

And soon he was fucking her against a fax machine that also photocopied.

POEM#584

‘SHOPPING GARRETT’

Lesley Garrett10 frowned.

Her fist was bleeding.

‘I’m afraid we simply don’t recognise that as a method of payment,’ the sales assistant repeated.

‘But it’s worth more than that telly!’ Garrett yelled; and she punched the bit on the till again.

The bald sales assistant went deeply ashen.

‘You can’t pay by singing,’

He reiterated.

But Garrett had already slotted her backing CD into a nearby Denon.

She waded back to the till, ordered a weak boy to bag up her widescreen, spat out her gum and began to sing.

POEM#680

‘THE FUTILITY OF WAR’

All the soldiers were on the beach throwing bombs at each other.

After two hours Alan hit a horrid German and that meant they’d both lost exactly 300 sons/people.

Richard giggled.

‘We’re back where we started.’

Then an accurate German fired a bullet through his neck, and that was him done, too.

POEM#838

‘THE FURIOUS CITIZEN’

Philip dropped a bomb from his plane onto some foreign soldiers.

Everyone who knew someone who died was very upset.

One woman actually shook her fist at Philip’s plane.

POEM#324

‘THE SIKH AND THE CHRISTIAN’

A Sikh and a Christian11

Traded religions

For the rest of the day

The Sikh died that afternoon – an enormous icicle fell through him.

The Christian – as a tribute – stayed Sikh for a further month.

POEM#1010

‘CORPORAL MOORE’S MISSION’

Corporal Moore

Was asked to go undercover.

He would be shot, pierce enemy lines as a ghost

And – hopefully –

Report back to Sergeant Cornwall (a medium).

POEM#1183

‘THE END’

The penises in charge of the world

Set off two whopping great nuclear bombs –

One going in each direction.

Everyone died, including the guys who had organised the bombs.

There was a pretty depressing silence.

Some Eskimos survived because they were wrapped in thick coats made out of seal blubber and penguin fur.

They continued to bore holes in the ice and pull fish from the ocean to eat.

POEM#335

‘PRAYER’

Jack Manchester went to church 100 times.

He got brilliant at praying.

One day he prayed that Denise would sit on the same pew as him.

She did, and he allowed himself the luxury of touching her knee with his wrist.

POEM#922

‘INVESTMENT’

Abigail spent twelve grand on a haircut.12

In fairness to Abigail, it suited her and she pulled a Premiership footballer.

POEM#1182

‘THE LOGISTICS OF WAR’

China and America both wore blue to the war.

The Chinese were furious.

‘Didn’t you get our emails!!!?’

The Americans explained that Elaine, the girl who dealt with all that side of things, was off on maternity leave.

They agreed it was their bad and offered to go skins until their away kit could be flown over.

They stripped down to their boots and trousers and put their war jackets in the backs of their tanks.

Then they poured forward across the deserts, shouting their heads off and firing their guns and chucking grenades and rocks at the Chinese.

The Chinese returned fire,

Warm and smart in their blue fatigues.

PAGE#1095

‘GOD BEING GOD’

God made a cloud in the shape of a famous politician taking a shit.

Then he waited for people to notice it,

Trying hard to suppress his giggles.