Driving Daljit Nagra His Home!

I saw Daljit Nagra read a poem titled 'Get Off My Poem, Whitey!' before Christmas. That is my only excuse for the poem that follows, which I performed last night at the Poetry Cafe in Betterton Street, Covent Garden. I'm seeing Daljit next month, so it will be, er, interesting to find out what he thinks of my work...

Driving Daljit Nagra His Home!


Hello, Guvnor, didn’t see yer there

in the dark. Yer’ll want Southall, yeah?
Willesden, yer say? Well, hold yer chapattis,
that’s a respectable neighbourhood, that is:
Yer got business there? Well, no offense,
but yer must travel miles for ingredients:
that lady’s finger, that stinky karela,
the bits and bobs of a pukka masala!

Well, strap yerself in, let’s find summat good
on the wireless, summat jangly from Bollywood
to pass the time. If you don’t like it, say so—
the Pussycat Dolls are murdering Jai Ho!
Bet that takes yer back to when yer was a kid
on the cinnamon streets stained with betel quid,
amma haggling with street jalebi sellers,
shokri babes in peacock saris, dark fellers

with mustard-oiled hair and bugger-all arse
in their pants, rolled up prayer mats under their arms;
where Nissan Bluebird minicabs idle
outside the doors of mosque and temple.
By the by, we’re there at a pinch.
Now, finding your house should be a sinch:
I’ll look for a house with a coriander hedgerow,
an elephant statue and a Shiva fresco!


(c) 2012 Poetrivia