The Polari Poem

Polari

“How bona to vada your dolly old eek”
Said Julian and Sandy when Mr Horne trolled round
And I wondered in my own ecaf
And in my thumping cheat
If I could cackle such lavs

At dacha setter, I was a dish
A fili-omi with lallies lagged in fake leather
An eek-full of slap, lupper ongles shiny polished
And riah zhooshed by the crimper that reached down my back

The butch aunties loved me, the manly Alices who hid in the journo
But outed themselves in cottages
After a nochy of schumph
There was no village then

I never saw myself as omi-palone, or even bibi
No labels for me
However versatile I was, and bold
However many cartzos I’d jarried

I’d troll home in the nochy
In the munge of the suburban lau
Nanti dinarly in my kaffies, but aunt nells ringing
And ogles open, ready to scarper at the screech of a naff chavvy,
To the safety of the parents’ bijou latty-ette.
(That’s your actual French, you know!)

But that was quattra dacha years past
Camp is now bona, and queer is okay
So they cackle.
Julian and Sandy have carked it, minced their way to the grave
And maybe I’m just a foolish old fungus
Trying to find myself in a stiff polari.


January 2023

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