My Father is shouting
absentmindedly downstairs
in a child’s voice:
‘SORRY FOR BEING ALIVE!’
He is Glasgow.
I have a silver spoon
lodged up my rectrum
and everytime I sit down
I moan a little moan
of pain and ecstasy…
I spit out the dummy.
I am Glasgow too.
A City of spoiled brats
On benefits and alcohol,
playing the great alcoholic sharade.
A Nation of Arselickers:
beggars lick the boots
of the wealthy for some spare change.
M.P.s like the hind arse of the
English Brethren for some
extra power, control, money…
They’ll like your arse then
stab you twenty times
as though you were
the mirror of their
insanity…
Glasgow,
old man
staggeringdown the road
shit in his pants
piss in his pint
shouting with arms
raised. shouting at
the world to put
him back in his
cot.
And all the while
the Sun Sings
acorss the Sky
and my Father shouts
in a childs voice, it
could be the sound of
a little girl or boy:
‘SORRY FOR BEING ALIVE’
he is making his world
renowned chili for dinner.
And i polish my silver spoon,
lick my lips…and consider
working for Charity…