They Picked Me Up From The House.

The excitement


Of the closing ambulance door

Made me view the leaf-scattered pavement

And the cemented semi-detached,

The youth with a football

In a whole other shade.

Days are an endless horizon for most,

A curtain between acts

Where we never see its final fall


Now, I’m a stagehand

Aren’t we all?

Sweeping up the clutter,

To make the floor

Shine once more

Shine once more

For the kid with the ball

Shrouded by monarchy

Like us all.


That gin took the vigour out of me

All I have left is shoddy freedom

Driven to the land

Of those bound to fail

As they shave me

And the bridge takes the battering of my weight, yet again

Girls rouse from the bed-drawers,

Consultants laugh

At the futility of the crushed pigeon

Shrouded by fossil-dew,

They pick me up.


And we’re taking the stairs

Whilst they’re sweeping the clutter

The leaves they scatter,

As the shadow grows long.


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