Clearance Sale
Posted: Mon Feb 14, 2011 10:02 pm
G'day all...
Been concentrating on catching up with the backlog of unread posts whenever I've had a chance before posting, but I seem to always be a page or two behind! So I thought I'd better post this before it becomes ancient history. This is the poem I snagged a Commended for in the Blackened Billy. (The format of the original won't seem to translate here, so perhaps I should explain that there are three main elements to the scenario: The Auctioneer's spiel is the background (in italics) to a conversation between the main character and a third)
Clearance Sale © Will Moody 2010
"Now here's a bit of top-notch stuff,
let's see - lot one five four.
I've seen these go two thousand each
down at the agent's store.
Who'll start me with two hundred?
Only ten per cent at that.
Come on, who'll get me started?
There's one hundred! Thank you Pat."
The auctioneer is trying hard, but bidding's pretty slow.
There's not much cash to spare round here, and mate, I ought to know.
"One twenty at the front now!
There's one thirty at the back!
No advance?..Last call!..Last chance!
One forty! ..Thank you Jack."
Young Clarrie Spence, the auctioneer, is working flamin' hard
to try and get the most for Jim before he clears the yard.
And Jack's got troubles of his own. He can't afford that gear.
He'll use up all his overdraft, things don't pick up this year.
I know just how he's feeling though, we've had these sales before.
The way this drought is dragging on, we'll likely see lots more.
And Clarrie's got his job to do...he's got five mouths to feed.
It's not his fault that Jim's sold up to meet shareholders' greed.
It's not the first old neighbour's farm we've seen in recent years
that's gone under the hammer, and they're not the first wife's tears
to be held back while strangers pack the only home she's known.
He's not the first good mate we've seen and thought "How old he's grown."
This farm's been worked by Thomsons for a hundred years or more.
Jim's grand-dad used to be the mayor, before the first World War.
His father was a Digger too; we all remember Joe.
He must be turning in his grave to see the old place go.
Who me? I run the local bank...the villain of the piece.
Yes, I was born and bred round here...I married Jimmy's niece.
So don't think that I don't feel their pain and lose my share of sleep.
It isn't me has much to gain when some-one's in too deep.
I've got a mortgage of my own, and fifty three years old.
Head Office makes the rules and I must do just what I'm told.
But mine's the only face they see when they think of the bank...
and in their minds it seems to be...it's me that they can thank.
Ah well, I've got my job to do, like Clarrie, he's got his.
We neither one might like it, but that's just the way it is.
"I thank you for your patience gents.
Next lot, lot three four o.
Instructions are to clear the lot
....and everything must go."
Been concentrating on catching up with the backlog of unread posts whenever I've had a chance before posting, but I seem to always be a page or two behind! So I thought I'd better post this before it becomes ancient history. This is the poem I snagged a Commended for in the Blackened Billy. (The format of the original won't seem to translate here, so perhaps I should explain that there are three main elements to the scenario: The Auctioneer's spiel is the background (in italics) to a conversation between the main character and a third)
Clearance Sale © Will Moody 2010
"Now here's a bit of top-notch stuff,
let's see - lot one five four.
I've seen these go two thousand each
down at the agent's store.
Who'll start me with two hundred?
Only ten per cent at that.
Come on, who'll get me started?
There's one hundred! Thank you Pat."
The auctioneer is trying hard, but bidding's pretty slow.
There's not much cash to spare round here, and mate, I ought to know.
"One twenty at the front now!
There's one thirty at the back!
No advance?..Last call!..Last chance!
One forty! ..Thank you Jack."
Young Clarrie Spence, the auctioneer, is working flamin' hard
to try and get the most for Jim before he clears the yard.
And Jack's got troubles of his own. He can't afford that gear.
He'll use up all his overdraft, things don't pick up this year.
I know just how he's feeling though, we've had these sales before.
The way this drought is dragging on, we'll likely see lots more.
And Clarrie's got his job to do...he's got five mouths to feed.
It's not his fault that Jim's sold up to meet shareholders' greed.
It's not the first old neighbour's farm we've seen in recent years
that's gone under the hammer, and they're not the first wife's tears
to be held back while strangers pack the only home she's known.
He's not the first good mate we've seen and thought "How old he's grown."
This farm's been worked by Thomsons for a hundred years or more.
Jim's grand-dad used to be the mayor, before the first World War.
His father was a Digger too; we all remember Joe.
He must be turning in his grave to see the old place go.
Who me? I run the local bank...the villain of the piece.
Yes, I was born and bred round here...I married Jimmy's niece.
So don't think that I don't feel their pain and lose my share of sleep.
It isn't me has much to gain when some-one's in too deep.
I've got a mortgage of my own, and fifty three years old.
Head Office makes the rules and I must do just what I'm told.
But mine's the only face they see when they think of the bank...
and in their minds it seems to be...it's me that they can thank.
Ah well, I've got my job to do, like Clarrie, he's got his.
We neither one might like it, but that's just the way it is.
"I thank you for your patience gents.
Next lot, lot three four o.
Instructions are to clear the lot
....and everything must go."
I'll give you first prize for that. Good work on your award.