Here’s a poem from my college days (aged 16-19, 2001-2004). It’s not perfect, but I like it and just dug it up. Thought I’d post it online for posterity.

The Fast Soap String

I went to nick a phone but failed,
Then was nicked, and then was jailed,
For just a week and just a day
I had to pay, and pay I did.

You see, quite unfortunately,
Must admit my fallibility,
I am quite the serial crook —
On all the scams I wrote the book.
Snatching babies, ransom notes,
Forging bank deeds, forging notes,
Charlie smuggling, brown horse nights,
Countless ex-girlfriends, just one ex-wife,
All I’ve done and all done over,
Now the choice: to stand, bend over?
Hmm…

The coppers brought me in for one
But then, and how, and oh, what fun!
My wife and all the sad others,
All ex-friends and all ex-lovers,
Testified and sold me out,
Now I’m feeling the jail clout.
Eight days, it was, now it’s more,
Just a bit — three years to four.
But my real worry now I’m in nick
Is: I’m eight stone and five foot six.
Hmm…

To bend for soap or stand upright,
To be relaxed or be uptight —
Not that it matters a jot, a bit,
For eight days or more I cannot sit.
Yes I was humbled and made less man
When in the shower or on the can
I heard the creep and heard the splash
And heard the whisper, wished to dash,
But when inside, there’s no place to go
But in the dark where the sun don’t go.

So closes this, my tale and song.
I urge you, think quite hard and long
‘Fore you transgress the word of law,
Or you’ll be left, cold and poor.
Believe me when I say you’ll find
You ought to treasure your behind.
And when you think to do those deeds,
Really, I beg you please,
Do the wise man not wise guy thing:
Take not from your soap, your soap’s fast string.

As for me, though, now Wandsworth’s served,
With all the cruel and callous observed,
Return to Susan and found, My word!
Instead of her that stirred my snake
I found that I was wont to take
Not to her, but her brother Jake.

[Bryan: here endeth the heart-warming tale of prison rape and consequent conversion to homosexual preferences; I can think of many ways to improve this poem, but thought I’d post it up as it was]

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© 2001-2014 Bryan Ashley James Parry