Telling Tales

by Patience Agbabi

You have given me power you should.

  I shall be both beautiful an’ good.

  Look my face when cock crow,

  I am very pleasing to you.

  Her prophecy came to pass

  and the marriage consummated in bliss …

  So she married a rapist

  but he learnt his lesson.

  May God give us young submissive husband!

  You like my headtie?

  It’s de latest fashion.

  They sell like hot cake on Victoria Island.

  Fifty pounds.

  I give you discount ’cause I like your smile.

  The quality is very good.

  If I take off more I will not make profit

  an’ I travel to Lagos nex’ week.

  Make it my lucky day.

  Please, I beg you!

  The Devil in Cardiff

  Huw Fryer Jones

  D’ya hear Robbo got sent down again?

  When a snitch gets sent down

  what chance for the rest of us, eh?

  Allowed one call and he calls me,

  the div. I ses, Where are ya? He ses,

  Hell! No signal down ’ere. Can’t bloody text!

  I ses, What you doing down there, moron?

  Ses he met a man in the Dragon,

  asks him what he does and Robbo

  ses he’s a bailiff, helluva sly, Robbo.

  Man ses he’s a bailiff too, for his sins,

  an’ Robbo gets the bevvies in.

  Talk breaking, entering, weapons,

  summonses, like, repossessions.

  Sell his nain for a pint, Robbo.

  Pint of bitter for me … Robbery

  but he got a suspended … So they’re playing pool

  an’ man says he’s not a bailiff at all

  he’s the Devil Incarnate!

  Robbo ses, I was the devil in Cardiff

  meself last weekend. Broke the ASBO,

  banned from South Wales, me … Robbo,

  Robert Owen. They shake hands like

  they’re arm wrestling an’ Robbo winks.

  Ses he’s got a job on the side selling

  dope to the cops, raking it in.

  Thick as thieves, they were. Ta!

  Closing time, there’s a lad in a Lada,

  won’t start. He’s revving it hoarse,

  cursing it to hell. Freezing cold, it was.

  Car’s choking like an old bag

  then comes back to life. Thank God, ses the lad,

  drives off. Robbo laughs, If you’re the Devil

  you shoulda taken the car, you div,

  but the Devil ses no, he only takes what’s his

  when the curse means business,

  none of your half-baked.

  Robbo ses he’ll teach him the tricks of the trade.

  They’re well out of town now

  an’ Robbo stops at this bungalow,

  peeling paint, leaky roof,

  knocks on the door with his leather glove

  and this old dear opens up, Oh, it’s you!

  tries to slam the door but he pushes through.

  She says, I owe nothing, I’m a poor, old woman.

  But Robbo’s got this fake summons –

  non-payment of a fine with interest.

  Pay up or pay the price, he ses,

  and the Devil’s laughing in his overcoat

  like he just told an old joke.

  Nothing on the shelf but a teapot

  full of old coins. Robbo grabs it,

  empties the coins on the carpet.

  Mine, he says, To cover an old debt

  I paid for you, on a street corner.

  Helluva sly, Robbo. She says, You’re

  wicked, Robert Owen, I only

  knew one man, my late husband, Dai,

  then starts speaking Welsh, like. Repent

  or the Devil take your soul and the teapot ancient!

  Robbo tells her where she can put

  her repentance and the Devil bags him and the teapot

  non-stop to Hell! Dying for a pint, he is.

  Only serve tea down there, and bloody biscuits …

  Bitter for me … He’ll be back here

  in less than a month, though, bet you a fiver,

  they’ll be beggin’ him to go.

  Get an ASBO from Hell, Robbo.

  Arse Dramatica

  Geoff Sumner

  Door-to-door salesmen? Scum!

  I should know, use ta be one.

  Me an’ this geezer John worked North London

  where the Newtons is. Pensioners in semis,

  read the Guardian, give to charities,

  know the type? We was the bees knees

  in bullshit. Gift of the gob.

  Commission-only and we made a few bob

  on the stain-free carpet job

  but wasn’t enough. John had a plan.

  Fake insurance, our first scam.

  Made a few grand.

  Then, NADA, for dumb people

  who can’t act. John turned on the babble,

  quote the Bible

  from Eve to the ark

  if it helped with the big ask.

  Straight from the devil’s arse!

  I leave him to it, go down the boozer.

  He looks up Thomas, old geezer,

  bedridden, East End miser,

  cash-wadded mattress,

  made masses,

  John ‘knows’ the missus:

  Morning gorgeous. How’s the old man?

  She winks, Bent as a white van.

  An’ John says, all deadpan,

  Collecting for me charity, NADA.

  National Academy for Dumb Actors.

  Thomas, be our benefactor!

  Sits on the end of the bed,

  missus brings sliced meat, sliced bread,

  Thomas shakes his head:

  Fuck off!

  I’ve given a grand to you and your ‘staff’.

  Enough’s enough!

  I’d scarper. Not John.

  Knows how to turn it on

  an’ the wife crosses her bacons.

  Sounds like a good cause, luv!

  Every line you could think of,

  John pulls it off:

  how they got to build new offices,

  how it’s giving jobs to the jobless.

  Load of old cobblers.

  If you got no charity, Thomas, know what?

  You’re nothing. Nada. Diddly Squat.

  Now show us what ya got!

  Plonks the form on the eiderdown,

  Have a butcher’s at this. Come on,

  sign your name in neon!

  Thomas smiles, Alright, I’m smitten

  but you know I don’t do nothin’ written.

  Got somethin’ better I keep hidden.

  He gestures to the cover, Put your arm

  behind me, an’ John’s groping round his arse,

  hoping for a windfall ‘for the arts’

  when Thomas farts! Loud as a carthorse,

  Share that with your workforce!

  And John’s a whippet off a racecourse,

  you won’t believe the stench!

  Now he’s sitting on the pub bench

  plotting revenge

  while the whole pub’s trying to decide

  how John’ll equally divide

  that blast from the backside!

  To this day, John’s pissed off

  but you can’t argue with the pay-off.

  He had it coming. End of.

  STONE

  I Go Back to May 1967

  Yejide Idowu-Clarke

  After Sharon Olds

  I see them standing outside their family compounds.

  I see my father wearing a white agbadan and

  crocodile shoes, instructing his driver by the

  spiked iron gate of their complex, he is just

  twenty-four but already a big man in Lagos. It is

&nbs
p; rainy season, the air heavy with his looming proposal. I

  see my mother walking barefoot on the red dust road to her

  village, a calabash on her head, wearing her only cloth and

  crucifix, she has just fetched water from the well.

  They have not yet met, today they will be married.

  My father will arrive in his Cadillac to

  translate her into his bride, adorned with gold.

  I want to approach them and say Stop,

  I am begging you—you are not a bad woman,

  he is not a good man, he is going to put you on trial

  like Job: you will bear him a daughter, and later a son,

  and each time he will say his people have turned against you

  because you are from a small village and not educated,

  each baby must be removed by force from your breast

  (but he will secretly place us in care of my aunt

  to attend the best schools in the country)

  and you will draw the sign of the cross on our heads,

  your womb will cry out but you will not disgrace him

  for you promised to honour and obey; in time, he will claim

  he wants a new wife, believes in one man one wife

  and wants a divorce, will send you back to your village

  barefoot and bareheaded with barely a cloth to cover

  the belly that bore him two children; then order you back

  like a housegirl to manage the house and the wedding feast

  for his beautiful new wife from a good family

  who resembles you, because it is I, your daughter,

  standing before you, young, adorned with gold;

  and only when you say, Oga, please I beg you,

  do not treat your new wife the way you have treated me,

  will he reveal his deception to test your faith

  in him and your love of the Lord Jesus Christ. I want to

  approach them, there in the late May heat and say it,

  her hungry pretty face turning towards me

  slow motion with the weight of the calabash,

  his arrogant handsome face turning towards me

  slowly with the precious weight on his mind.

  But I do not say it. I want to live my life. I

  take them up like Shango and Oshun

  mahogany dolls and rub them together

  at the hips, wood on wood, as if to

  make fire from them, and I say

  Do what is God’s will and I will bear witness.

  That Beatin’ Rhythm

  Soul Merchant

  Once Upon a Time, in the Land Of 1000 Dances, January married May. What is This Thing Called Love? Some say, Love Is a Serious Business; some say, Love Is a Trap. He’s The Bachelor, She’s Not The Marrying Kind. He’s Mr Big Shot Got My Mind Made Up and she’s a Country Girl Talkin’ ’Bout Poor Folks, Thinkin’ ’Bout My Folks. He says I’ve Struck It Rich but some say she Cashing In. He’s Too Old for her and yet, they (Just Like) Romeo and Juliet. Adam and Eve.

  And I’m Damien, Agent 00 Soul from the Backstreet, the Image Of a Man. Saw a Job Opening for a Mr Clean to Lend a Hand to Little Old Man, January. He bought the House For Sale, The House Next Door, huge as a Haunted Castle. I fell The Big Oak Tree to make furniture an’ sing The Work Song as I’m clearing Bricks, Broken Bottles and Sticks outside. There’s a Storm Warning and I Run for Cover from the Spring Rain, the first Time I see May, the Lady In Green. She’s a Flower Child, a Wild One. I say Stop Girl, but she Keep On Walking, Surrounded By a Ray Of Sunshine. Am I Cold, Am I Hot. I Got the Fever. I Love Her So Much (It Hurts Me).

  January puts the Band Of Gold on her Third Finger Left Hand an’ they Sign On the Dotted Line. Then we Dearly Beloved Come Back to bass. Ain’t Nothin’ But a Houseparty. There be Soul Food: Sliced Tomatoes and Green Onions. There be Apples, Peaches, Pumpkin Pie. There be Street Talk, Sweet Talk and Melodies.

  —There Was a Time, says January, when I’d Philly Dog Around the World but I’m Tired Of Running Around. Since I Found My Baby, Home Is Where the Heart Is. When you’re old as The Big Oak Tree, Make Sure (You Have Someone Who Loves You), a Little Young Lover or Time Will Pass You By. Some say Ain’t No Soul Left In These Old Shoes but I’m forever a Night Owl. I’m Com’un Home In the Morning. Pity My Feet.

  January, you Keep On Talking, I’ve Got My Eyes On You, Blushing Bride. Ain’t laying my Cards On the Table but My Heart Is Calling. Music, The Beat, That Beatin’ Rhythm. January leads May Out On the Floor and it’s Getting Mighty Crowded. I Can’t Be Still, gotta Dance, Dance, Dance: The Horse, The Boston Monkey, The Cool Jerk. I’m Where It’s At, Look At Me, Look At Me, girl, What’s My Chances? When they left, I Just Kept On Dancing but my Shoes got the Cold-Hearted Blues.

  Love Love Love, I be Love Sick. Heart Trouble but Nobody Knows What’s Going On In My Mind But Me. This Love-Starved Heart (Is Killing Me). I S.O.S. so she know Something’s Wrong. Here She Comes, my Black-Eyed Girl, to Help Me.

  —Only Your Love Can Save Me, I whisper. Call Me, Call Me Tomorrow!

  —I Must Love You, she smiles, I Dream Of You. But January’s a Jealous Lover. Keeps a Shotgun.

  —Don’t Worry ’Bout Me. I Can Take Care Of Myself, but Gotta Have Your Love, Can’t Wait No Longer, It’s Torture.

  We plan to find some Love Time. She’ll Joe Tex me. It’s our Deep Dark Secret.

  Then, All Of a Sudden, January’s struck blind as Ray Charles. Be’s That Way Sometimes. A Blessing In Disguise, If You Ask Me. They call Dr Love but January says to May,

  —I Don’t Need No Doctor. I Need You! Don’t Pity Me.

  Mister Misery for weeks, sees nothing but Ten Shades Of Blue. Only Sweet Soul Music make him Keep On Keeping On. He’d die for Suspicion.

  —They’re Talkin’ About Me. They say You Don’t Love Me Anymore. Tell Me It’s Just a Rumour, Baby.

  —Why Picture Me Gone? Baby Can’t You See, I’ll Always Love You.

  Before he’d never Let Her Go Out Of Sight, now she Serving a Sentence of Life in a Prison of Love. He says,

  —Baby Let Me Hold Your Hand. Never Gonna Let You Go. What Good Am I Without You?

  How can I Love My Baby now she Never Alone? Calls for a Whole New Plan. Got To Find a Way.

  January got a Top Secret room, he call ‘My Garden Of Eden’ where they Do It. Vinyl Heaven In the Afternoon, Wall To Wall Heartaches. Raised stage made from The Big Oak Tree, decks, A Lot Of Loving Goin’ Round the turntable. Nobody Knows where it’s at, Nobody But Me. She cut me a Key To My Happiness from the Master Key so we can get A Little Togetherness.

  And today Sweeter Than the Day Before cos January says,

  —Let’s Go To That Lovin’ Place,

  an’ May Joe Tex me. I Run Like the Devil to that One Room Paradise and Up Jump the Devil on stage like I Playing Hide and Seek. No steps to climb Step By Step. I’m Waiting for you, Lady In Green, to open the Green Door, an’ I’ll Open the Door To Your Heart.

  They Walk On In. January Just Can’t Trust Nobody since he blind. Thinks She Got Another Man.

  —May, Do You Love Me or are you Somebody Else’s Sweetheart?

  —What Kind Of Lady you think I am? I’m a Good Woman, Still True To You and I Keep the Faith. What More Do You Want?

  —Little Darlin’, I’m So So Sorry. What Can I Do Just To Prove I Love You? An’ May says,

  —I Feel an Urge Coming On for That Beatin’ Rhythm. Gotta find The Right Track for Our Love. I’m Not Strong Enough to Get On Up onto the stage, it’s Ten Miles High. If You Love Me, Get On Your Knees so I can climb Up and Over to the decks.

  —For You Baby, I’ll Do Anything.

  Some say, Love Ain’t Nothin’ (But a Monkey On Your Back) an’ that monkey Keep On Climbing up to where I’m Standing. She play ‘I Really Love You’ real loud. We gotta Take a Chance, Time’s a-Wasting. Temptation Is Calling My Name, Girl, Don’t Make Me Wait. She’s Turning My Heartbeat Up, Oh My Darling! No Time for Interp
lay, I’m The Snake In Paradise, Oh, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah …

  And Suddenly January yells,

  —What? Oh No Not My Baby! I Can See Him Loving You!!!

  No Fortune Teller predict this. I’m In a World Of Trouble. And I think, Be Careful Girl, Better Use Your Head. Say It Isn’t So and May says,

  —Sweetheart Darling, a Last-Minute Miracle! I’m So Glad your sight’s Come Back. Baby Can’t You See, Damien’s teaching me the Love Hustle? Don’t deny me One Little Dance!

  —Who Are You Trying To Fool? I Can See Him Making Love To You, Baby! But May says,

  —You’re Barkin’ Up the Wrong Tree. I love oldies not newies. I want a Big Bad Wolf not a Baby Boy. You Too Darn Soulful, That’s Why I Love You. And January says,

  —If I Could Only Be Sure. I Was Blind, maybe Something’s Wrong With These Eyes. Just a Little Misunderstanding. If You’ve Been Cheatin’, I Don’t Like It (But I Love You). I’ll Forgive and Forget. May, We Were Made For Each Other, Like Adam and Eve. Do I Love You (Indeed I Do).

  Now we Right Back Where We Started From. It’s Torture listening to A Lover’s Concerto, Standing In the Shadows Of Love. Give me The Real Thing. I’m Hung Up On Your Love, May, He’ll Never Love You Like I Do. I’m Stepping Out of the Picture, I’m On My Way, I’m Gone. But I’ll Never Forget You. My Heart Is Calling You Baby. Every Beat Of My Heart.

  GRAVESEND

  Fine Lines

  Jeu’di Squires

  You

  knew

  blue

  was my colour the blue-black

  of an old tattoo you drew

  blood with your sword-pen-gun

  I want you

  back

  No one-night-stud

  on a shire horse

  seeking princess in chintz dress you were the

  Fire Horse

  wild steed I rode bareback

  held your hair for reins as you bolted like a stud

  each strange steel stud

  on your right ear gleaming in the true-black

  Don’t touch my metal, you spat

  so I held back

  from your rook tragus lobe

  three steel globes

  though my tongue longed to lick

  those flickering glittering ellipses …

  No striptease

  baring of the soul you were

  pierced thick as chainmail

  metal where you should have had a heart

  I couldn’t read the body art

  infiltrate the ink of each tattoo