Violet Brown

Violet Brown was known in this town
For the tartar that tainted her teeth
Her hobby, of late, was directing her hate
At the folk in the flat underneath

Clues there were none, as to what they had done
To make her so bitter and twisted
But she'd fume and she'd squint at the tiniest hint
That the people downstairs still existed

They didn't deserve all the loathing she'd serve up
Each day at the drop of a hat
But Violet Brown had a need to look down
On somebody, the nasty old bat

She was ugly as sin, without and within
This evil-intentioned old harpy
With a stoop and a hump and a face like the rump
Of a recently-rogered okapi

She'd hated her Mum, 'til the Reaper had come
The loss made her bile even stronger
And her husband, it's said, had preferred to be dead
Than to live with old Vi any longer

He'd worked like a slave to make her behave
But that hadn't done any good
So, shouting "Oh, f*** it!" he'd gone to the bucket
And kicked it as hard as he could

Now lone and aloof, she'd stand on the roof
Surveying the pavement below
And screeching, "Just die!" as the neighbours went by
It was her way of saying, "Hello"

One day, letting loose with more verbal abuse
She'd picked up her tomcat's excreta
To throw at their car, but she leaned out too far
And the pavement came rushing to meet her

Now, up in the sky, I'd swear I could spy
A cloud with old Violet Brown on
She'll be happy at last, with her pain in the past
And the rest of the world to look down on

Will Hames, December 2008