Playing Dead

standing in a queue to collect our costumes a chorus 

line smiling (what you grinning at lad)

on parade (smarten up) chest proud

(right two three

and turn two three)

we felt like dancing girls

only ‘till christmas it’ll be a pantomime (i think 

we were the arse end of a cow) a tour of france

a song and laugh as we waved from the train

just time to to fix bayonets then be home again to sing 

of goodwill to all men on earth     

roast chestnuts    

holly wreaths and a mistletoe kiss

we acted out our orders leaving a script to loved ones

tucked into the sand bags of the pits before

stepping on to the boards for our matinee performance

the conductor lifted his baton

in full voice we charged crying with stage fright

into the footlights of the winter sun and an overture 

of machine guns

we walked tall 

centre stage

into no mans’ land

and the clapping artillery and the front row’s aim

no star performers

no headline acts just haig’s troupe 

with a cast of thousands

(cue) mortar applause

(cue) poppy bouquets

then the final curtain falls

© 2006  P.A.Levy

First published by Forward Poetry for In A Flanders Field Anthology  2014

Godfather Rap

call’s come in from hollywood precinct

douglas fairbanks jr yer lazy mother fucker

get on the case

find sylvia sydney

that slut’s in trouble 

again

she’s dipped a sneaky looking no-mark

got the jackpot with a handful of rocks

but that waster was a george raft grafter

yer hear what i’m saying

he gonna be fucked right off

that bitch got his property

and now he’s gotta do

what a mother fucker’s gotta do

and word on the street is already out

george wants respect and his crack back

that bitch is a lump of dead meat apocalypse

he’s got a shiny nine millimetre

and he’s gonna fuck her up 

good and proper tragically

meanwhile 

douglas fairbanks jr is chasing shadows

up his own asshole

he’s gonna be two years in traffic

after this fiasco

sylvia knows she’s in deep shit

sees veronica lake to call in a favour 

they go way back 

when they were both lap dancers

all she needs is somewhere 

to lie low until the coast is clear

the heat is off

and here’s the steamy romantic bit

sitting on the bed is humphrey bogart

smoking spliff

and he’s thinking she’s no lauren becall

- but i’ll still give her one

her eyes met his 

she prays he’ll fuck her brains out

so she sheds tears and spills the plot

lets him finger her

to whet his appetite

humphrey finds george in some two bit joint

puts a cap in the part his brain was at

and he and sylvia drive off into the sunset

in a knocked off range rover

dr dre bass booming out the stereo

© 2009. P.A.Levy

First published by Curbside Splendor  2012