Not to endure like a needy old man,
ears full of hair and shouting
at the bare-chested boys
to get off your lawn.
Not to hang on like the wheezing
old woman who proves
such an annoyance clambering
onto the bus. To die
as you’ve lived,
a yellow-bellied dog,
stomach full of sawdust and scraps,
between the security fence
and the flyover, thoughtfully,
out of harm’s way.
3 comments:
That is a great poem.And a pretty neat photo too.Is it a volkswagen polo, or a Fiat Uno? Either way,I've never seen them looking so good.
And here's one in a flyover jacket:
http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3065/3108832954_9f3f07b8bf.jpg
Life's shit, then you get battered to death at the bus stop by a gang of 15 year old girls and their drug dealing boyfriends high on drugs - shot in the head if you're lucky as the wrong targeted victim of a gangland drive-by in Drimnagh, stood at the LUAS with a few cans of Druid cider, just mindin yer own business.
Post a Comment