Wednesday, 21 July 2010

Gala Day

The gala stank of suncream and sweat, sawdust and hot rubber. On the hook-a-duck stall, the goldfish boiled in their bags. With my lips sugar-crusted from hot doughnuts I haemorrhaged pounds at the tombola stalls, trying my luck for degraded bears and Elizabeth Arden talc as children wove around my feet like cats, jacked-up on candyfloss and dangerous with the heat. They queued up for the rickety rides, pawing and squalling in their little England kits, clambering into carriages shaped like helicopters with tigers' mouths and shit-brown, leering carp. The Gala Queen was a pity vote and the clowns unsavoury. It was the best of days.

6 comments:

  1. This comment has been removed by the author.

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  2. Perfectly Posset. That last line just is you, speechless I am.

    POEM.

    The gala stank of suncream and sweat,
    sawdust and hot rubber.
    On the hook-a-duck stall, the goldfish
    boiled in their bags.

    With my lips sugar-crusted from hot
    doughnuts I haemorrhaged pounds
    at the tombola stalls, trying my luck
    for degraded bears
    and Elizabeth Arden talc as
    children wove around my feet like cats, jacked-up on candyfloss
    dangerous with the heat.

    They queued up for the rickety rides,
    pawing and squalling in their little England kits, clambering into carriages
    shaped like helicopters with tigers'
    mouths and shit-brown, leering carp.
    The Gala Queen was a pity vote
    and the clowns unsavoury.

    It was the best of days.

    (submit to journal) Haha, couldn't help myself, sorry.

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  3. There needs to be carnivals every day, just in case I need to have a miserable good time.

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  4. fucking paul. everywhere i go on here he is

    ReplyDelete