45 47 You Got Ten He's Got Eleven

Introducing Pan Troglodytes Americanus...

The Chimp is out there. He walks among us. He’s coming to your town. To your end of the town. He’s a-walkin’ down your street. He’s leaving a mess of banana skins behind him like a karmic trail. He’s an ape so he ain’t go no tail. He thinks he can’t fail. Like a hake-pond his fake-blonde hair wobbles in the air. He’s like a tiny little teeny weeny Muscle-eeny – pouting his lip, scowling, barrelling his chest, howling, baying at the moon, kicking shit and chawing hogs all the way to Flahda. Thinks he can rule the world by having the ugliest face. Thinks he can down-scowl you with his face. Thinks he can put you in your place. Thinks he’s big, yeah, bigger than you. Thinks his towers of gold will subjugate and subdue you. 45/47 – you got ten he’s got eleven. Five years time you won’t even have seven. Thinks Trumpet Tower is a stairway to heaven. Exasperated he rasps, berated by millions, raspberry nose, orange face, this gentleman prefers blonde for his Barnet Fair. His mullet. His syrup of figs must be yellow or ochre like the yoke of the egg of a chicken – what an ogre. Playing poker he plays the joker but if he ever smiles he looks like a smug child. Well, this is the man, if we like it or not, who controls much of destiny and it’s all getting hot. He don’t favour nature he don’t like nature he don’t see the beauty and the wildness and the beauty and the rightness he just don’t see it, he don’t see.

Nero?

What happened?

Why’d you grow up like that?

What happened?

What did they do to you?

Oh here he comes, just a walking down the street, hey hey he’s the monkey he’s got thumbs on his feet, he’s the honkey he’s got flunkies, so don’t fuck with this monkey – ‘cause with him on the beat you better get up on your feet – don’t mess with this primate – he’ll soon make you cry mate – so don’t even try mate - yes he’s a-walkin’ down your street – he’s a knockin’ at your door – he’s climbin’ up your stair – now he’s pullin’ your hair – beware, my friend beware beware the bloody great ape with the fake-yellow hair.

THREE SONGS BY VASILIS TSITSANIS  and readings from the short story More Of Everything...  

President Chimp is now available at Redwing Gallery, Penzance; Moonlight Books, Penzance; Edge of the World, Penzance; London House, St.Just; The Bookshop in Helston, (Helston!); Cornish Authors, Penryn; Rubicund Books, F@lmouth; The Cornish Store, Falmouth; and the dreaded Amazon...  plus a gradually increasing selection of bookshops in the Shyre of Kernow...  Buy it today - Goddam your ass!