Jimmy was a snotty kid

Jimmy was a snotty kid

A creamy runnel, down to the corner

Of his mouth

It glistened

A snail trail

The cuff of his shirt

Was always crusty

His clothes smelled musty

Mean kids called him ‘carrot top’

‘Ginger minger’

‘Shit for brains’

Always on the outside

Never in

Stole a woman’s purse

Off the kitchen table

Her door was open

They all were,

In those days

Not now

Too many burned-out cars

Street fighting seems more

Than a pastime

Back then

The pit was still open

The men had work

Dad was a time-office clerk

Which doesn’t sound much

But he had respect

They all called him ‘Lancey’

I guess Lancelot was too fancy

La-de-da for the village

Grandpa was a Lancelot

But he was a lay preacher

A voice as deep

As a mineshaft

Until his chest collapsed

With pneumoconiosis

He scared me witless

Although I never said

Even after, when he was dead

It wasn’t my place

I was a kid

Doing what you were told

It is what you did

Except for Jimmy

He bought sweets with

The money he stole

Shared them around

I guess you would call it

Buying friendship

Which would be sad

If that’s where it ended

But Sergeant Argyle’s daughter

Shirley had a big mouth

Stuffed full

Of jelly-babies

And her dad soon found out

Came around everyone’s house

After Jimmy blew his nose

On his sleeve

And spread the blame

Even though we didn’t know

The money was stolen

My dad was embarrassed

A policeman at the door

It had never happened before

Even if they did drink together

In their ‘civvies’

In the bar at the British Legion

I was grounded

For the sake of a polo mint

A six-week stint

Of no playing in the street

Early to bed

And a heavy clump

Around the head

For being a gullible chump

I guess I learned a life lesson

Never take sweets

From a snotty kid

Who wipes his runny nose

On a crusty sleeve