A Clockwork Orange - The Final Chapter: Antidote for the Masses

 
 
There was me, that is Alex, and several devotchkas,      
giving me the viddy up and down, thinking      
I’m a grahzny ded here for some naughty pol.      
We were standing in the old Korova Milkbar,      
no room for sharries these days, in the mesto      
where Your Humble Narrator and my tree droogs,      
once sat drinking milk-plus, plus something else      
for the old strobing lights before some ultra-violence.      
    
 
O my brothers, no more milk-plus for Your Old Humble,      
it makes my keeshkas bolnoy and pan-handle snuff it.      
The mesto is full of nadsat devotchkas and malchick      
dressed in outre edge of fashion, injecting drencrom,      
synthemesc and vellocet into their glazz and krovvy.      
    
    
I find a malenky sharp, eager for the old in-out, in-out      
and drag her out by the luscious glory into the alley.      
My molodoy devotchka on her knees, lubbilubbing      
to her rot. O my brothers, how horrorshow she lapped      
and stroked my yarbles, whilst sploshing in her neezhnies.      
There was me, Your Wicked Alex, pealing off her platties,      
gropping at her groodies, pounding with his pan-handle…      
    
    
But it all came to an end when my devotchka got poogly      
by the zvook of malchick smeching down the lane.      
O my brothers, there was no more in-out, in-out      
for Your Hardened, Alex. My horny devotchka      
grabbed her platties and ran for her jeezny, leaving me      
all on my oddy knocky. I viddy four shadows of a shaika,      
dratsing amongst themselves, bustling thru my memories.      
    
    
Just like Your Humble Narrator and my tree droogs,      
the shaika were swinging rock and rookers, ready      
to do the ultra-violence on some shivering starry      
grey-haired ded. O my brothers, Bog and All His Unholy      
Bratchny Saints, I was ready to snuff it, for all my strack.      
    
    
The leader let out a crark, unleashing a wave of fists      
tolchock Old Humble to the ground. The shaika,      
unmerciful with rooks and boots spilling my krovvy mess,      
they broke me real horrorshow, hell-bent to vred.      
Oh bliss! Bliss and hell! Oh, it was splendorous-ness      
and spoilable-tastic drippings of my razrez flesh.      
O my brothers, I did not snuff it! I reached for my britva,      
loveted the light of the moon and dreamed of ultra-violence.    
    
    
    
    
    
    
This poem was written for the "Lost Scene" Comp and inspired by the book "A Clockwork Orange" by Anthony Burgess.  
   
The Competition Details: Write a scene for your favorite book or play.    
   
I wrote an alternative ending for the last chapter in poetic form, with Alex DeLarge now double his age, at 36 years old. The story is set in his old hangout, the Korova Milkbar without his droogs.    
   
The poem is written in the style of the original novel with the use of nadsat words [russian derived], which I've attempted to make clear in context. I haven't provided a glossary as the author had always intended to brainwash his readers, forcing them to use a Russian dictionary instead [use google].