ShitsacklShock-shack Day

 With hat pinned I sat in the carriage

sober dressed, best dressed, men in suits, girls frocked:

high necked frocks showing zero cleavage.

Before the railway and telegraphs talked,

or school board education and language was known,

when women had their voices and tegmen wore smocks

an unbelieven chillen played duckstone

before ShitsacklShock-shack day became Whitsun

an uz queans hurkled an whizzgigged an

in-a-mos’ shandied az we prepared

for t’ junket. Yer Kit, ‘e went a purler

on t’ pitchin, ricked ‘iz ankle, a reet

dummel ‘e were when ‘e landed in pucksey,

‘e looked proper gawkuz. Gertie tight lipped laffed

while she cleaned ‘im up, our spreeved ‘andz raided

pantoniez and prepared nummet feaztz.

T’ fuckling vicar frickled half-baked ‘til

Tom the tegman drove the gill up t’ dewpond

an near flumped over a tump az Sally

faggot jumped out at ‘im; she juz’gapped.

T’will be a greet day when she goes to the Mop.

Uz queans laid out t’ nummets, we wuz leer,

it were time, we reeved our skirtz and zat down

while t’ men stood and showed off their vamplets.

There at the dewpond, with tablecloths laid

the vicar coughed, we bowed our heads and prayed

Noise rose: the twins pinched babies and pegged it,

clocked by Pete, a reet narration. Chaperoned

boys mooned up girls while parents proclaimed

a main day, dimmet arrived, not quite time

for Jack and his team to be in their prime

and as we made our way home voices were

heard to say ‘Whitsun was a good holiday.’