Lines written in an Essex pub garden on the occasion of a wrestling match.

Years ago I took my young sons to a wrestling match at a local pub. I wrote this at the time.

In the churchyard next door the dead at their labours
turning in graves at the sound of their neighbours
A caccophany of kids and peroxided, curvaceous blondes
clashing happily, slapperly with the herbaceous fronds.

In an Essex pub garden.

'Hot Stuff' and 'Zebra King' are bout number one
The zebra from norwich finally won
Hot stuff distracted by falling down tights
King stripily pounced and put out his lights.

In an Essex pub garden.

Now is the time for the teams that play tag
muscles abounding and bellies asag
To a fanfare of whistles, boo's, cheers and hisses
They land spectacular punches like butterfly kisses.

(Stands the clock at a quarter to three and yes there is beer yet for tea)

As each half nelson half expects
A little more decorum from the fairer sex
A fat bald dwarf in turquoise thong thing
Does a sunset flip on the 'Rock n roll King'

then real screams of pain and genuine alarm
for the wrestling elvis has broken his arm
Ambulance called, The King wheeled off in a barrow
nothing left now but to get pissed to the marrow.

In an Essex, oh so Essex, pub garden.