Today I watched Mulleady’s man
collecting all those bottles and cans
Bottles of sin and cans of cheer
relics of Yuletide and vague New Year.
Green glass here and brown glass there
and white glass-mountains everywhere.
Green bin low and brown bin lower
white bin getting sick all over.
“Why do they go in different piles?
I asked the nice man; never smiles.
“It’s because of the colour, I suppose” he said,
Then he dumped them all in the self same bed
in back of the big truck, coloured blue,
where they couldn’t be seen by me or you.
There they mixed and splintered into one
and captured at their own speed the rays of the sun.
"It’s a bit like us" I thought out loud
colour divides the meek and proud
until their lives are spent and gone,
Then they melt together just as one.
Fill me another glass of the same
ReplyDeleteCause my bottle is empty
And I don't know my name
The rats that are screaming
Are all over the shop
And all that I want
Is another wee drop
To take me to heaven
At least for a while
And warm my cold heart
With a hint of her smile.
Down in the dumps
Where I languish in pain
I hear her pass by
And I call out her name
But it's only the sound
Of the wind in the trees
As I try hard to hide
From the cold Artic breeze
That blows from the friends
I once thought I knew
Now as rare as a hole
In a parish priest's shoe.
I'TS A KIND OF MAGIC!
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