Alvin

Alvin had alphabetical advantages, and

Blatantly the best bars in the borough, but

Creatively, he lacked confidence and could be crushed.

Definitely, he decided, he didn’t dare to share,

Even in emergency situations.

“Fatso!” yelled Fergus, across the canteen floor.

“Gimme your grub.” His gang blocked the exit door.

He hit Alvin like a hammer, hurled him hard across the hall,

Inspired an intake of breath, the injuries were so raw.

Juddering like jelly, Alvin un-jammed his jaw,

Craving kung fu knowledge, to kick-box karmic law.

“Let me leave, Fergus, and I’ll lend you my lunch.”

“Meet me Monday morning, mate. Bring me another munch.”

Alvin knew nobody now could help him but himself

Overthrow oppression and obtain his former wealth,

So he practised pithy putdowns, to parlay his way to health.

Quaking and queasy, he queued a quiver of quotes.

“Rather than ruck, let’s run our mouths.

Success secures sixty notes.”

Text made Fergus twitchy, but he tried to trounce this tramp

Uttering ugly uppercuts ’til he succumbed to verbal cramp,

Vexing Alvin, whose vengeful volleys vanquished Fergus’ vulgar vows.

“You welterweight, you whippersnapper, you weight-lift words worse than MC Hammer.

You xenophobe, you xylophone. Where’s the exit? E.T. phone home”.

Yin beat yang and Fergus yielded. Alvin was a hero.

His zigs and zags and freestyle flow had turned Fergus to a zero.

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