Sunday, 16 February 2014

He's on it

This one, I dedicate to very dear friend, one Andrew Grice who lives in Rotherham. One of his favourite sayings is "On it like a seagull on a bag of chips". I thought it would be fun to write a poem with variations on that theme.

He’s on it

He’s on it like water on sinking ships
Like a hand on the ball nicked into the slips
Like a kiss on Angelina Jolie’s lips
He’s on it like a seagull on a bag of chips
He’s on it like a rat climbing up a drain pipe
Like a stray dog pouncing on a bag of tripe
Like mould on fruit that’s gone overripe
Like Oswald on Kennedy, waiting to snipe
Like an angry driver with an urge to yell
In rush hour traffic FUCKING HELL    
Like a convict on a bunk in a prison cell
Quasimodo on the rope of the cathedral bell
He’s on it like an actor on a West end stage
Like an Eastern European on the minimum wage
Like a sex scanda on The Sun’s front page
Jimmy Saville’s dirty hands on the underage
He’s on it like a rash all over your skin
He’s on it like a fox on a rubbish bin
Like an old alcoholic on a bottle of gin
Like an unsuspecting arse on a drawing pin
He’s on it like a pisshead on a donor kebab
He’s on it like a finger on a dried up scab
Like a hand on a Rolex at a smash and grab
Like a night clubber running for a taxi cab
He’s on it like a cokehead on a big white line
Keith Floyd on a bottle of French red wine
Like Diana on the trail of another landmine
Like a picnic on the beach when the weather’s fine
He’s on it like a kitten on a ball of string
Like a wedding guest on a chicken wing
Like a wannabe singer who really can’t sing
He’s on the karaoke singing everything
Like an England captain on his best friend’s wife
Like a psycho in a fight with a carving knife
Like a man on appeal in solitary strife
On suicide watch sent down for life
Like a fired torpedo on an enemy fleet
Like a new-born baby on a mother’s teat
Like a man with diarrhoea on a toilet seat
He’s on it like a lion on a piece of meat
He’s on it like a spy on a document
That’s marked “Top secret” by the government
Like Guy Fawkes underneath Parliament  
With a highly explosive implement
He’s on it like a gossip on a juicy tale
Like a seventy’s pop star on a young female
Like a bird in the garden on bread gone stale
Like a member of CAMRA on a pint of real ale
Like The Terra Nova on a frozen shore
Like Captain Scott on a mission to explore
Like a poet sitting down on a muddy floor
Writing accounts of the First World War
Like a thirsty man on a beer in the fridge
Like Kingdom Brunel on designing a bridge
Like a broker on a deal with Etheridge
Like Hillary climbing up a mountain ridge
He’s on it like a multi millionaire’s son
At the Bullingdon club with his flies undone
Burning a fifty pound note for fun
Then shagging a pig in front of everyone
He’s on it like a bard writing a sonnet
He’s on it like bird shit on a shiny bonnet
Like an addict needing more he falls upon it
Like a junkie on a score
He’s happy when he’s on it 


All comments welcome!