Then ventriloquist dummy

Then ventriloquist dummy

He swayed on cracked pavement, pint too full,

Words slurred from lips that weren’t his own.

“Say something, mate,” he nudged the wooden grin beside him.

The dummy blinked silent, crowd leaned in,

Waiting for two voices from one drunken soul.

He kicked a pebble, glanced at his chipped pine partner,

“Oi, you got a line, or just here for the booze?”

The dummy’s mouth stayed shut, but inside a cheeky thought:

“Better silent than sounding like him.”

Coins tossed, some laughed, some stared—

Kids shouted, “Say something funny, mate!”

He hiccupped, spun the dummy round, slurred,

“Why don’t dummies get hangovers?”

Crowd leaned in.

“Because they don’t drink, you daft lot!”

The dummy grinned crooked,

The ventriloquist bowed, swaying,

Coins jingled, laughter spilled into the night.

He whispered, “Let’s show ‘em a trick, yeah?”

Gripped the dummy, tried a clever voice—

But croaked like a frog in a pub brawl,

“Hey, you! Buy a drink for your best mate here!”

Crowd cracked up, one bloke jeered,

“You’re drunker than the puppet!”

He grinned, slurred back, “At least I don’t squeak!”

Dummy’s jaw hung slack—if it could, it’d roll its eyes.

Wind flipped the dummy’s hat like a frisbee,

Chasing it down the street, he limped after,

Cursing, laughing, tripping over his own feet,

Crowd clapped and hollered, loving every spilled word.

He caught the hat, fell flat on his back—

Dummy perched beside him, smug as ever,

Saying, “Better you than me.”

Crowd roared, coins rained down,

Night alive with laughter and spilled secrets,

Drunken ventriloquist, still grinning,

Mumbled, “Best show in town, lads… and it’s all free.”