Friday 31 August 2012

Lean


 

He was, he knew, he could have been

Anything he dared to dream.

Instead, he is, he will not be

Anything apart from lean.

 

To learn, to dream, he had quick wit,

Eloquent, to say the least,

But now, not then, he’s prisoner

To the drink they make from yeast.

 

He slurs, he spits, he does not know

What it is, that makes him tick!

He thinks, his words, are interesting,

Bright red nose, a whisky trick.

 

To say, he was, articulate

And possessed with wit and grace

To deny, would be a lie

If he wasn’t off his face.

 

He was, he knows, he should have been

That which it was he dared to dream,

But here, he is, he’ll never be

Anything, apart from lean.

A Table Laid for Two.


 

 Swear I left me phone on the table,

Probably her ringing again,

We’re going to sort things through at last…

Mad to leave a full glass, and drinks on the house!

This is living, me and the boys.

Leave it on the bar...I’m off for a smoke.

 

God me nerves are in bits, I’m dying for a smoke.

With heavy heart and hand I lay the table.

We talked of kids, he wanted boys.

He won’t be home again.

Still stuck inside this dusty house,

He’s had his chance, this was his last.

 

I’m cleaned out, better make this last,

Here, have you anymore smokes?

What’s her problem anyway...a house is a house is a house.

Me head weighs a tonne, lay it on the cold table,

The electrics gone unpaid again

This isn’t the life I imagined when I was a boy.

 

I can see him now, ‘big man’ with the boys,

The bars are closing, why is he always last?

Painful decisions made, I eat alone again.

Dinner burnt black, a room full of smoke,

Cards laid flat on the table,

It takes more than bricks and mortar to build a house.

 

Kids? Who’d rear kids in such a house?

Sure it’s early yet, rack them up boys!

Dinner stone cold upon the table,

I deserve a drink, stone cold sober since Sunday last.

Look at the state of me, baggy eyeballs black as smoke

There’s the bleeding phone again.

 

I’ve warned him time and time again!

Does he really think I won’t leave this house?

I remember the blue-eyed boy bumming a smoke…

The man who thinks he’s still a boy.

No regard for me, ‘if you’re not first you’re last’

Two uneven legs make a rocky table.

 

Never again will I eat alone in this house

The eternal boy is free at last

When the smoke clears I’ll lay my own table.