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Thread: Yuke (CTG)

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    Senior Member ChrisGeorge's Avatar
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    Default Yuke (CTG)

    Yuke

    Yuke, you learned to play chords
    on your dad's ukelele strumming

    to George Formby uke and croon,
    "I'm leaning on a lamppost

    at the corner of the street in case
    a certain little lady comes by."

    The toothy comic actor leered out
    between the first licks you played

    in your deaf gran's front parlor
    amid antimacassars and aspidistras,

    a cracked 78 on the gramophone.
    Lancs lad, you graduated from uke

    to Stratocaster, robust as a black pud—
    a plump blood sausage—sounds sweet

    as an Eccles cake, raisins and sugar,
    you would peal an archipelago of notes.

    Smoky northern clubs; morning stale beer
    in city jiggers, ciggies on our lower lips

    as under a wet sky, we lugged our gear
    home. Lads who might have been us

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    blinked at us and ignored us,
    got back to their scratch footer.

    Christopher T. George
    Last edited by ChrisGeorge; 11-18-2006 at 03:46 AM.
    Christopher T. George
    Editor, Ripperologist
    Editor, Loch Raven Review
    http://christophertgeorge.blogspot.com/
    Chris on Flickr and on MySpace

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    Senior Member ChrisGeorge's Avatar
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    Default

    Another rock group poem:

    Prees Heath, Summer '68

    Our group’s van expires on the abandoned
    airbase: a transport cafe proprietor, broken-

    nosed, lemon-toothed, force-feeds me coffee.
    A sharp stink of Lysol plus Ohio Expresso.

    Garth and Pete click dominoes, don't glance up
    as I stumble out and puke in the yellow gorse.

    Empty runways, camouflage-gray hangars:
    heathland stretching in every direction,

    ghost Mosquitoes buzz the chickweed cement.
    I swab my mouth. Another riff to play.

    Christopher T. George
    Christopher T. George
    Editor, Ripperologist
    Editor, Loch Raven Review
    http://christophertgeorge.blogspot.com/
    Chris on Flickr and on MySpace

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