4. Steve Peppergin - Part 3

Steve Peppergin (Cock-and-Bull Story)
Parodying John Barleycorn

And then, after seeing his friends were prepared
To do anything that he could ask,
Once more to shout at Steve Peppergin Joe dared,
“Get out, ya dirty scum, yer damn cask!”

In a moment the gun appeared in his hand.
Peppergin understood: time to run!
For now our dead man was near his second end
And decided to make off like fun.

He jumped out his coffin, determined to slip,
But a second before Doe had bawled
At his two friends, “Seize that motherdanglin’ creep!”
And at once they had heard that loud call.

So they grasped Steve tight, waiting for Doe to speak,
Who began to draw nearer to them.
Yes, that would be damn hard to call their grip weak,
That was a very terrible jam.

Then Steve’s worm-eaten arms fell off from his trunk,
Baring his thin decayed collarbones.
That change of events put two men in a funk,
They began to shake just like two crones.

Peppergin, seeing he wasn’t seized anymore,
Tried to run, losing pieces of flesh.
That he wouldn’t be pursued he was double sure,
But Doe still wanted to fix Steve’s hash.

He grabbed his shotgun, got to firing like mad,
Seeing nothing but his running prey.
Bullets, in the air, tried to hit in the head
Of the poor victim Doe wished to slay.

Shooting was so chaotic Doe hit his friends,
Even killed two poor men on the spot,
But did not see that, his wrath got out of hand,
And his anger was really too hot.

He kept on firing ev’n when shot off the legs
Of the dead man who’d tried to escape.
Steve could really do nothing but strike the flag,
So he fell down like a bunch of grapes.

Frantic Doe ran up to fallen Peppergin,
Madness still getting hold of his mind.
(Or maybe ‘twas a lot of bottles of gin
That had made him invariably blind.)

The fire did not cease, though the foe was struck down,
And with laughter John Doe madly roared.
He was cheerful as if he was on the town,
And he felt like the Almighty Lord.

Soon nothing was left of the body of Steve,
Only his head was rolling away.
An amusement that was for Doe, I believe,
But his laughter was out of the way.

When the smith saw the fleeing head, as he thought,
He flew into an infernal rage.
As a player, the guy set all rules at naught,
And, besides, ‘twas his life’s brightest page.

Killing the bitt’rest enemy is so nice,
But that one had nine lives like a cat.
So he couldn’t be done away with in a trice,
And the knowledge of that made Doe mad.

Three more shots — the head stopped its rolling at last,
For John Doe that was the greatest joy.
He could not follow it too long and too fast,
He had not run since being a boy.

Panting after the chase, he came to the head
To be sure he had done everything
To turn his enemy to the coldest dead —
For our smith that would be the best thing.

But no one would foretell what could happen next:
For Peppergin’s head opened its eyes
And put out its tongue at Doe, trying to vex —
Seemed like Steve still did not want to die.

Then his live head jumped up too high, you might say,
And sank its teeth into John Doe’s nose.
And that spectacle wasn’t too merry and gay,
That was awful for Joe, I suppose.

Then the smith set to scream incredibly loud,
Swinging his arms, trying to get rid
Of the ghastly thing who was making him shout,
For the umpteenth time Doe flipped his lid.

Doe squeezed the ugly head with his strong tan hands,
But Steve did not want to let him go.
The teeth held fast, so our hero ploughed the sands,
Making such a spectacular show.

Struggling was so hard Doe had a heart attack,
So he fell on the ground, and he choked.
He was coiling, as a cold snake, on his back,
And then soon he was dead — what a joke!

As to Peppergin’s head, it just disappeared.
Only three dead men were left, that’s all.
Doe will rise sometime, and his foes will come there —
Never seen him, but they’ll pay a call.

28–29.04.97, 2.08–19.09, 20–30.12.98