One for Deelder (feat. John Cooper Clarke)

His physique was slender to the point of emaciation

His hair was a jet-black, patent-leather widow's peak

He looked like Count Dracula's better-looking kid brother

Tasty bastard

He wore these zoot-flavoured gangster suits

In some kind of rotatory system

His sense of humour was sharp and slightly sick

And his dress code obsessively late Forties

When I went round to his place

There were always at least eight of them on show

Same style, different fabric

Each draped on a tailor's dummy

Adjusted to his particular chest size

And each topped off with a coordinated fedora

Plus necktie and pocket square

I have to say

One of the very few Dutch people

It was possible to have a meaningful conversation with

Perhaps this was due to the fact that he was from Rotterdam

A blue-collar, chip-on-the-shoulder kinda town

And not Amsterdam with its flaky, anything-goes ethos

The late, great Rotterdam poet Jules Deelder