Saturday, 13 November 2010


Poem 132 of 230:  GREED AT ITS WORST - SPRING 2001

At first, I thought it was an argument -
    A noisy argument in my flat’s block -
But, as the violent sounds continued,
    Opted to open my stairway door’s lock.

The upstairs neighbour was already there:
    The man opposite me was being held -
Locked inside his flat and receiving thumps.
    “Hey! Come to the door, now!” we knocked and yelled.

Soon, the male pensioner’s door opened,
    And a mid-twenties male appeared -
Waving, between the upstairs-man and me,
    Either a gun or something that neared.

The solid upstairs-man chose bravery,
    And tried to apprehend the filthy thief.
When the latter wormed free of the former,
    I, too, had a go and had him beneath.

Then, frankly, I was tricked to distraction:
    A young woman followed and had her say -
Pleading to stop it and leave him alone.
    He and she soon bolted down the stairway.

The upstairs man gave chase, but tripped and fell,
    As I phoned 999 and told the Law.
The pensioner suffered a bloodied face -
    I don’t know if he has less/they have more.

(C) David Franks 2003