NAFF OFF
So after another shot or three
of Bushmill’s Irish Whiskey,
chased by a couple
of Natty Lights,
I found myself standing
in the middle of
a large and flat green field.
Standing out there with me
were John Lennon and George Harrison,
looking just as they did
on the cover of the Sgt. Pepper album.
Standing out there with them
was a fat gopher. Seriously.
So, John and George and the gopher
and I spent some time together
frolicking about the green field,
much like the Beatles did
in A Hard Day’s Night—
only without any music playing.
After a few minutes, I stopped
and asked where the music was.
“Copyright issues, mate,”
said George, with a stone face.
“We weren’t going to shell out
all those quid just for you.
You ain’t Mick Jagger, after all.”
“Still,” I said, “it’s nice of you Brits,
keeping your green fields watered,
weeded and mowed just
for frolicking. One never knows when
the mood for a ripping good frolic
will strike one, truly.”
George Harrison shook his head.
“This is a cricket pitch, professor.
I swear, you bloody Yanks
think everything’s about you.”
I noticed the gopher, which was
crouched nearby licking his privates.
“Nice gopher. Just like your song.
‘I am the gopher, coo-coo-ca-chew.’”
John Lennon squinted through his glasses.
“Sodding hell, George! This twit
doesn’t even know the damned song.
It’s a walrus, you kettle-head!”
“Why the gopher, then?” I asked.
“I thought he came with you,” said John.
“I thought he represented your basic,
more animalistic impulses,” said George.
It was my turn to shake my head.
“You guys aren’t what I expected.
You’re quite a pair of Sour Sally’s.
Whatever happened to all that
peace, love and flowers stuff?
“We only trot that out for real fans,”
said John. “George, this git is a bore.
Let’s go teach the gopher to meditate.”
“Right behind you, John,” agreed George.
“And as for you, Yankee Doodle—
if you’ve any more frolicking to do,
you can bloody well do it
with Davy Jones and Peter Tork.”
The gopher glared at me.
“Naff off,” he huffed,
trailing after John and George.
I woke up on the sofa
in my front room.
I took out my phone
and conjured up
Daydream Believer on YouTube.
I preferred the Monkees, anyway.
©2024 Jack Phillips Lowe All rights reserved.
Jack Phillips Lowe is a resident of the Chicago area. His poems have appeared in Clutch 2023, Bold Monkey Review (Australia) and Poetry Super Highway, among other outlets. His most recent book, Flashbulb Danger (Middle Island Press, 2018), is available from Amazon. Lowe is currently working on a new poetry chapbook.
