Literary / Arts
Victoria Poem
David Jure, Victoria
Volume 29 Issue 1, 2 & 3 | Posted: March 20, 2015
Victoria is a very funny place, even when it rains
It’s chockful of bizarre characters with all their aches and pains
The roads change names willy nilly. you never know where you are,
It’s all swerves and curves, you need an armoured car.
If it’s tourist season, why can’t we shoot them said some friend the other day
The streets are so animated you don’t need to see a Shakespeare play.
Me I write at the Joyce Bistro keeping tabs on Dave’s demented Dublin
Even though the panhandlers and panoply of poverty are downright troublin’.
We’re gonna miss the Johnson Street Bridge, the alternative isn’t pretty.
The Crimes Communist is plain and truthful but very rarely witty
Victoria is a very funny place, even when it rains
It’s chockful of bizarre characters with all their aches and pains
The roads change names willy nilly. you never know where you are,
It’s all swerves and curves, you need an armoured car.
If it’s tourist season, why can’t we shoot them said some friend the other day
The streets are so animated you don’t need to see a Shakespeare play.
Me I write at the Joyce Bistro keeping tabs on Dave’s demented Dublin
Even though the panhandlers and panoply of poverty are downright troublin’.
We’re gonna miss the Johnson Street Bridge, the alternative isn’t pretty.
The Crimes Communist is plain and truthful but very rarely witty
Since Steamers and the Central Grill went down there’s no music in the morning
What is with the Tudor House burning down, it’s the Penny Farthing that I’m scorning.
A homeless chap steals Marilyn Munroe off the wall at Floyds.
And speaking of off the wall, lets insure Howie Seigel’s wit with Lloyds.
Women rule here it’s plain to see, at four to one they own all the emporia
Ernie Hemingway would last ten minutes in the new enhanced enlightened Victoria.
But mostly what puzzles me, after living here fifty-three years.
Is how those pranksters get the runners over the wires after five or six beers.
You see them everywhere, the whole town’s one big Monty Python sketch.
Except for one thing and it really sticks in my craw.
I don’t mean to cavil, complain or kvetch,
the way the police treat the mentally ill really rubs me raw.
They shoot dead poor young Rhett a month ago in James Bay.
Armed with just a BB gun, as I said, you don’t need a Shakespeare play.
To see the tragedies and terrors recently come to pass,
We mentally ill have absolutely no rights – Democracy my ass!
What would Robin Hood do except take to the woods and light a fire
My little poem is meant to stir to action and not just to inspire.
David Jure, Victoria