folktober – Lincoln Inp
A Lincoln Imp
Tell you why I’m motionless here, grinning
down at you. Satan let us out to play.
Mate and I sat on a church spire twisting
it. Chesterfield never had better days.
Next we blew through that door. Tripped up Bishop.
So serious. In the Angel Choir broke
chairs and tables till angel out a hymn book
told us to stop, so I lobbed stones at bloke
while mate scarpers to Grimsby, where angel
catches him, smacks his arse, turns him to stone
as he did to me. At least mate can waggle
his smacked arse at visitors I’m alone.
Need a bit of fun in this God given
place packed full of all praying and hymning.