Disclaimer: I own these poems, but I'm not making a single penny off of them. Does that make you happy, oh dearly departed Writer and Movie Director?
Author's Note: Well well, little sisters, well well…
This is the fastest sequel I've ever made, because no chapter ever took under a week for me to type, at least as far as I can tell. I surprised and pleased myself with this accomplishment, and I hope this installment has the same effect on whoever's reading me loyally.
At the same time…I wonder if I should type a little bit of explanation as to the time progression in these poems, so that they might be a bit easier to follow along with. The first begins shortly after Georgie's original death and continues with about six months of wandering all around the city, while the second and third (this one) probably take place a solid 24 hours later. Point-of-view wise…the first has Pete speaking to a policeman, a doctor, a neighbor, his mom, a therapist, his mom again, the ghosts of his gang's dead victims, and finally, himself as he tries falling asleep again after a bad nightmare.
The second is self-explanatory, because he's talking to no one but himself.
This third one is a bit different, because three minor characters are addressing Pete instead of the other way around: first, one of the Sharps in the dyed wigs and black dresses; second, a person from a movie still wearing a white bodysuit and a black belt whom I could only assume was a bouncer; and third, two ex-members of Billyboy's gang, who undoubtedly must have been miffed that he teamed up with an old enemy right after joining the 'police force' and wanted to start a fight. As always, I hope this message works out the way I want it to.
P.S. I rated this maturely for the naughty bit of innuendo in the beginning. ;) Hope I don't get into any trouble for it later.
Voices of Korova
Just smot at you all by yourself
Your lovely droogs have run away,
If I whisper in your ooko
Could I get you to come and play?
Your glazzies are so very sad
Your litso is a purple mess,
If I stayed and kept company
Would you love me under my dress?
Come dance with me, oh sweet brother
Don't be poogly, no need to hide;
If I should kiss you everywhere
Could you give me a pony ride?
Let my rookers run through your hair
Golden-brown, like a shiny bell,
If I dug oh so deep enough,
Would I find gold down there as well?
Your touch warms me right through my clothes
My lips fire up for our eegra,
If I danced with you nice and slow
Could I soon put on your eemya?
Why did you falter oh so fast?
Why do you turn around so quick?
You were just fine with me so far
Would you come back and not act sick?
Bouncers, there might be like problems
Someone needs help, if there's any…
He was fine, but not any more
That malchick's had one too many!
What helpless halfwit have I here?
Cowering, covering his ears?
Is the nasty noise too nauseous?
Can I coax you to be cautious?
Don't lash about like a leopard,
I shall be your humble shepherd
The time for taking off is yours,
Go find your fun far from these doors!
Oh, smot at him all by himself
His gloopy droogs are nowhere near,
If we go dva-against-odin
Could we make him tremble with fear?
Come dance with us, thou shallow fool
Come out and drat against our Blitz
Come out and then you'll surely find
You never faced a War like this!
Let us hammer you with shlagas
Let us strike you with our fists
If we clop you down hard enough,
Would we get to shive up your wrists?
Oh look, he doesn't feel a veshch
He smecks and comes back for some more.
If we tolchock him down again
Could we beat him until he's sore?
That one was for your bolshy pet,
The one who took our droog away.
And this is for wrecking our nights
So we'd lie in traction all day.
Why can't this nazz slow down for once?
Just how much milk-plus did he peet?
Why doesn't he just give it up?
Does he want to die in the street?
Hope you like the sight of krovvy
Hope your pain grows even greater,
Filly-time's done, our bitva's won
And you'll have some sore plott later!