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Joskins

It's goodbye to me, the whistle and flute
Being replaced by the khaki suit.
The hob nailed boots, toes bulled to shine
Replaced winkle pickers so recently mine.

The drain pipe jeans, the creeper suedes
Smartly worn with black rimmed shades,
The Slim Jim Tie I liked so much
Replaced by denim, fitting where it touched.

The Tony Curtis quiff, grown with pride
Quickly reduced to the Short Back and Side.
An eight figure number becomes part of me.
I learn to be known by the chanted last three.

Life is lived at the dizzying double.
Moving fast keeps my number out of trouble.
I learn to stand passive faced
As my ancestry is very loudly debased.

Up and down and  around the square
So much time spent being shouted at there
While being introduced to the inspiring thrill
Of the stamping boot of foot and rifle drill.

Week merging with the following week,
Each succeeding one becoming more bleak,
Until suddenly the squaddie is nearly made,
Life eased a little with The Passing Out parade.

Basic training, always on the run
Against all odds finally done.
The me returns and I've time to find
Contempt for the Joskins coming on behind.














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Joskins