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A coat tail melodrama

Jack Steel

Life, a coat tail melodrama,

pissing in the gutter,

seeing reflections of the stars.


Quoting Oscar is

the nearest I

get to the BBC.


Imagine an audience,

listening or cheering.

Even shouting

or swearing.

Some attention would be nice.


Pluck the strings,

you screw all things,

quoting Oscar is the nearest I

get to the BBC.


I saw a man once,

with a famous face.

I ripped it off,

and put it on my face.

I danced around

and did a jig,

but no-one knew

because it only looked like him.


I wonder if stardom

is a thing for the wicked.

Or a thing for the pretty,

or the obnoxious or cute.


Implications of a lifelong

obsession are heavy

on a laboured soul.


Maybe if I style my hair like him,

will that do it?


If talent's enough then

why aren't I Jesus?

Is it because I buy my fake tan

from Tracy's delicatessen?


Everyone knows that Kim Kardashian has the secret.


It's locked in her cupboard

with more important things.

Except they're not are they?



What do I care,

if my breasts aren't quite as famous?








I wonder if Oscar ever worked at the BBC?



Probably a weatherman

or the economics editor.

'Our talent isn't wasted sir,

it's delegated.'


Meritocracy is anarchy

although I suppose it's impossible anyway.

Unless Simon Cowell

thought I could sell records.

And I could as well,

if my breasts were as famous as Kim Kardashian's.


We're living in a post Cafe,

royalty free world,

and I fucking hate it.


My plans for the future,

ruined by inadequacy.

Plans which extended no further than

about 6 and a half paragraphs

of metaphors and cheap thrills.


That's enough, surely?

Oh won't you let me be famous now?


The BBC probably wouldn't even hire him.


He'd fail the interview

because he's an ex jailbird.

'Bloody criminals,

should lock them all up.'


You'll never see me on the NHS.


I wonder if limos,

come with free champagne?

Or if the champagne will

come with free limo's instead?


How many words in a best seller?

And do they all have

to be good?


Give it a year or five,

and I'll be on the red carpet with Bono,

vomiting into a pint glass of Marks and Spencer champagne,

with my free limo overturned in a skip.


Living the high life.





Jack Steel is an aspiring novelist in his early twenties, currently working in The Midlands but hailing from the north of England. More or less unpublished, he is now working on his second novel, hoping for some luck in finding an agent at the second attempt later this year. 


His works are available here:"


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