Sunday, 22 January 2017

The Night the Moon Fell on my Council Estate

I was late for my community meeting, wasn't too fussed because it's usually boring.
But tonight was not quite the same, I looked up in the sky because I thought I felt rain.
But the moon was out and at an alarming rate was falling to earth towards my council estate.

And the moon fell onto my council estate, took off the roof made of sustainable slate off the community centre only built last year,
with money from the Olympics and the Mayor but that was history now it all came crashing down onto the heads of the Zumba crowd
and the Jelly Bellies they all fled over the bodies of the Zumba dead
and the community forum in the room next door, they hit the deck when they heard the noise and the antagonistic mean old man he blamed the mess on the council man,
and neighbourhood watch got onto their feet, hands on their hips with rolled up sleeves they said
'This is what we've been watching for, the end of the world or another war' but their voices were drowned out by the Pentecosts, singing the Old Rugged Cross
and the Yoga Teacher was shocked and stunned because the moon just missed her while she was chanting UM,
and the Pilate girls were very sad because the moon had killed the only man in their class, he wore tights but that didn't mean he didn't have a right to life

And the ambulance arrived, they beat the police to the line and the firemen next arrived followed by the media guys
and the news said that night, that change had come to all our lives and this had happened where I live where nothing happens and noone gives a second thought but on this night we were the stars and moon that shine in the papers the next day, basking in our time of fame

And in the memory of the Zumba dead, we laid flowers and we built a shed, for the local biodiversity group who later won the Sutton in Bloom and nothing in my life would be the same if it wasn't for the night the moon crashed onto my social housing estate

(The Pentecosts take it away) On a hill far away stood the old rugged cross, where my saviour did die so my sins could be washed away
Zumba dead, Zumba dead, Zumba dead, Zumba dead, Zumba dead.


Sue Healey said...

Brilliant, love it! More please . . . . . :-)

Peter Alfrey said...

Cheers SUe! :-)