Wetwang Gangsta

A poem for Yorkshire Day (August 1st)

He's five foot one
of pocket-size fun,
infinitely and exquisitely
diminutive.

Here he comes!

(Enter, Stage Right)

Undercover of the East Yorks night.

He's a hero to the lads

and a pin-up for the lasses.

Whatcha mean, you cannot see him?

Why dontcha use your opera glasses?

 

Hoovering up hallucinogens

like Ken Kesey's Merry Pranksta.

He ain't no stinkin' Hells Angel!

They call him 'The Wetwang Gangsta'!

 

Driving from here to Driffield

in his demimonde Ford Mondeo

with one hand on the steering wheel,

one hand on his .22 caliber pistol,

and one hand in a bag of Mint Imperials.

 

All you ladies beware

if he traps you in his lair!

The hand that proffers those profiteroles

once angrily strangled a goose.

The hand that strokes your damask cheek

once tightened a hangman's noose.

 

He's a legend in his own brunchtime.

The Jack Lord of his manor.

He's as deadly as a hornèd viper

and as cute as a golden hamster.

 

He's a little big fish

in a still village pond.

 

He's the WETWANGSTA.

 

B.R. 31/07/2016

 



Roger Moore laughs himself silly at the pathetic specimen that is 'The Wetwang Gangsta'.
(The Man Who Haunted Himself, dir: Basil Dearden, 1970)