We're expected to talk about stairs
adorned in Dickie Dirts,
Peckham Ryes and other rhymes.
Sharp, pearly people
who know a deal when they see one
then seal it with a drink
in the rub a dub.
But who's the cockney?
Bow Bell baby
who lost his eighteen pence and moved to Surrey,
or east end Aussie barman
who now speaks perfect rabbit?
We're so adaptable,
talk Amsterdam, New York,
or just pork pies.
Hold on to your daisy roots,
don't let it go to your Uncle Ned
or you might as well have
A north and south full of Hampsteads.
copyright John Webber 2006
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