Poem: The Influencer's Tale (WIP)

"While story telling is the worst,
I'll volunteer to tell mine first.
My name is Mim, I'm twenty two,
My calling is to share with you
My life of decadence and glam
On YouTube, Twitter, Instagram.
I know you're thinking: Who is she?
How does she live so perfectly?
"The things I do to stay this way:
Repaint my eyebrows twice a day;
Extend my locks with human hair;
(Retrieved from women God knows where);
I plump my lips with filler gel
(With breast enhancement booked as well);
My nether parts with bleach I treat;
And fish exfoliate my feet."
"I get this thing called JSA
That gives creators steady pay.
I have to sign on fortnightly -
I guess they're like my agency."
The sporty youth did interject
"I'll prob'ly see you, I expect:
I also sign on for the dole -
But never had to bleach my hole."
If bothered, she did not let on
Ignored the youth, and carried on:
"I've got a team who take my pics
And edit footage — my sidekicks.
They're on an unpaid internship
Until I get some sponsorship,
But I expect some any day
And once that comes I'll give them pay."
"Until it comes, these times are hard,
I'm maxing out my credit card
On clothing, beauty treatments, shoes -
The things that drive my on-line views.
I can't wait for the funds to come,
Move out the house I share with mum.
A city penthouse I will rent
With floorspace for my spray-tan tent.
"Before that happens, I'm stuck here,
Prepared to judge my waiting peer.
I'm disconnected from my fans,
Neglecting all my filming plans.
This contest helps to some degree
Consume artistic energy.
No more about myself I'll say,
Let's get my story underway."
____
I saw this tragedy unfold,
Three years ago, the truth be told.
A pair who were at school with me
At St. Veron Academy.
His name was Roland J O'Toole,
A senior pupil at the school.
A sporting hero of the town,
In football he held much renown.
With sandy hair and suntanned skin,
Athletic frame enclosed within
His prefect's blazer, golden braid,
To show that he had made the grade
As captain of the football team.
(Since first year that had been his dream.)
The school's A-list celebrity,
So popular and charmed was he.
And from the junior years, our maid
With wavy hair an Auburn shade
Her name was Julianna Thwaites,
But known as Julie to her mates.
No sporting team would let her in,
Instead she played the violin
In orchestra three times a week
Rehearsing string and bow technique.
She hadn't had a boyfriend yet
But lustfully she hoped to get
A beau that she could call her own
(At least one she could practice on)
So while we're paused, to no avail,
I'll tell our star-crossed lovers' tale
Of Rolly O and Julie T
At St. Veron Academy.
____
The Sports Club ball was in the spring,
A sporty pupils' gathering,
Where players from each discipline
Would find a pub who'd let them in:
A social club, or bowling green,
Who'd serve them though they weren't eighteen.
T'was famous as a raucous night
That partied through to morning light.
The football, tennis, rugby crew,
And even golfers, swimmers too,
Were all invited to attend
The Friday of the May weekend.
A source of pupil jealousy,
The guest list it was held to be
Exclusive to the sporting set
(Their plus-ones they could all forget).
Excluded from the invite list,
Alas, musicians always missed
The school's night of debauchery,
But that would not stop Julie T.
She had designs on Eddie Bream
The fly-half from the rugby team,
So travelled to the ball's venue
To trespass at the Sports Club do.
Together with her friend, Adele,
They snuck in by the back stair well
In search of Julie's paramour.
They both slipped through a fire door,
Of Railston Miner's Welfare Club
(A sticky-carpet, flat-roof pub)
And came out by the disco gear
Into the smell of stagnant beer.
The lights were low, a smoke machine
Ensured their cunning stayed unseen,
So no-one noticed them arrive
Into this dingy drinking dive.
And through the crowd they both did squeeze.
"We'll have two Pernod Fanta, please."
The barman rolled his eyes then turned
To fetch the cocktails that they yearned.
But then, the subject of her dream,
Our Julie spotted Eddie Bream,
"But look! He has his arm around
That tennis slapper, Stacey Hound!
And now they're snogging! Such disgrace,
I think she's going to eat his face!
How cruel to flaunt it, such a shock
(Despite the fact we never talk.)
"Betrayed!" our Julie then declared,
Before their drinks had been prepared.
She fled the scene, and led Adele
(Who liked a drama, just as well).
The barman turned to take their cash
But just in time to see them dash,
He saw them leave the bar with haste:
Two Pernod Fanta gone to waste.
So broken hearted Jules did flee
Onto the "smokers' balcony"
Where smokers, vapists, hangers-on
Indulged their habits, thereupon.
It wasn't quite a high plateau,
The pavement only feet below,
It's aspect on to Orchard Grove -
The road the local buses drove.
But standing in the rain and cold
Was Rolly O, who'd freshly rolled
A cannabinoid cigarette.
He paid no heed to Juliet
Who, silenced now, did long survey
Him through the fog of Mary J.
Perhaps she'd pass on cheating Ed -
Perhaps she'd have this boy instead?
Forgetting Ed, no more to grieve,
She wiped her snot upon her sleeve,
Then gave a hearty, manic laugh,
photograph
In hope of drawing Rolly's gaze
Designed to Attention to attract
In hope that they'd then interact.
Convinced herself she'd caught his eye
While, with his team mate, Lawrence Fry,
His focus on his cigarette.
She told Adele of her intent,
Applied her lip gloss, off she went
And leaning in to have a kiss
Said "Hello Rolly,
To land a headbutt on his nose
He smelt her cheesy Wotsit breath
He moved attempting to evade
The cheesy breath her mouth conveyed
But leaning o'er the ballustrade
He over-balanced, clumsy lad,
And tumbled over,
The pavement broke his fall below.
Sent Lawrence rushing to his friend
He put his hand on Rolly's head,
"I feel no pulse, I think he's dead!"
Then Lawrence panicked — fight-or-flight -
And disappeared into the night.
"My heart is broke in two again,
My love is crushed by fickle men.
If he has died, then so must I,
And so, cruel word, I bid goodbye!"
Then from the ballustrade she dove
Down to the path on Orchard Grove.
She went headfirst, beyond the wall.
Made no attempt to break her fall.
She'd read that in a libra'y book
.
(Parked 15 February 2022)
(Reconsidered 27 Jun 2022)
____

by Albert Semple
191 lines over 32 stanzas.