Derwent Street on the right. The railway line going behind the houses, was where I existed as an ankle-snapper
This Ode was written, in memory of the bad times. The start of my life-long Whoopsiedangleplops, Accifauxpas and Failures. Also, the two good things that happened while living here; but, they were my last two good things, and I can’t remember them clearly.
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Inchcock’s Sad Ode to his Youth
In Inchies youth, some kids could be vandalistic,
Most were foul-mouthed verbalistic…
With tempers, through ignorance, volcanic!
Nobody learnt how to use a chopstick,
Most uneducated, we had rickets and hair-nits,
Food options and choices were limited; we couldn’t cherrypick,
No vacuums, all had a dustpan and broomstick!
The teachers didn’t care; they were unspecific…
Volatile youths, spitting, swearing and unhygienic,
Educating in our school? Best learn survival… so tragic!
There always seemed to be some sort of epidemic…
Most whippersnappers got measles, worms or were tularaemic,
School life was about surviving bullies, all unsymmetric!
Threats were rife; each street had a gang, all misanthropic!
Most homes were two-up-two down, bare and mephitic,
But believe me, I’m not intending to be a critic…
Life was what we were born into, not to us, pyrrhic…
We made the best of what we didn’t have. Life was quixotic,
Poverty drove some of us to do things mildly despotic!
To survive each day, we had to be chameleonic…
Keep alert for gangs, any contact, you must be phlegmatic…
You’d still stand a chance of this proving pyrrhic …
You’d still get name called, and a wallop, many a skrik,
Fear turned many of us into being schizophrenic!