New BoJos & NoMos: Christopher Reid

Buying a Bojo

‘Give me a Bojo!’ the spoilt child cries.
‘Give me a Bojo! I want one now!’
The parents gawp back with alarm in their eyes:
they long to say no but they can’t see how.

‘Give me a Bojo!’ the child repeats.
‘And don’t wait for Christmas! Be quick about it!’
‘Are you sure, my darling?’ one of them bleats,
but it’s plain that their angel can’t live without it.

For the world has been swept by a Bojo craze:
Bojos for sale in every shop,
heaped high on shelves and in window displays,
in a quick-buck orgy that may never stop.

But what exactly is the appeal
of this pudgy and unprepossessing doll,
which can speak, but never says anything real,
and which has all the charm and grace of a troll?

It’s brilliant at bluster and bluff;
its fibs are clearly designed to be funny;
but are these attributes enough
to explain why people part with good money?

The spoilt child’s parents drive into town;
they buy a Bojo, the first they see;
and as soon as they put their tenners down,
they’re told it comes without guarantee.

Then a scurrilous chuckle is heard from the box,
which shakes with menace and merriment
all the way home, while the stink of old socks
combines with an even less wholesome scent.

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