Sunday, August 19, 2007

On Strike Again

Sitting on this hard, cold floor,
My mind is blank, my arse is sore.
Playing patience till I’m bored,
Smoking fags I can’t afford.
Shoppers look with knowing eyes,
Some come up and sympathise.
Kindly words sincerely stated
Are very much appreciated.
Five days stubble on my chin
Clearly shows the state I’m in.
I’ve read my books, my eyes are bleary,
The non-stop muzak makes me weary.
Perhaps I ought to take up Russian?
I wish to God I’d brought a cushion.
Smoke another cigarette
To pass the time and help forget,
Trying hard to tell myself
There’s people who don’t have their health-
Child-abuse and gun attacks,
People paying income-tax
Men and women on the dole
Who can’t put sugar in their bowl.
So I’m not too bad in my ennui
But I wish I’d win the Lottery.
I’d fly away to the Bahamas
Lie in the sun and eat bananas
Crack a coconut, drink the milk
While listening to Acker Bilk…
But then I open up my eyes
And very swiftly realise
I’d get more fun from watching cricket,
For I’m part of the Dunnes Stores picket.

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