great dampness set between us
the wankers, the old-timers
the wet grass squelched and bubbled around our tattered trainers
the rain, omnipresent, all-seeing and all-knowing
had deeply sunk into the earth
born from the dusty corners of the world
sleepy towns, rigorous hardship in the hearts and minds of all bogmen
our father's father's fathers, men of triumph and of sly wisdom
and we wait on the bus
and we could see more than they ever could with the click of a button
loss prevention
they hand you a marshmallow and say "You can have another if you answer this question but if you get it wrong you lose the one you already have"
it is our job as children of the fertile land
to not accept the first marshmallow in the first place.
YOU ARE READING
Poems for the zooted and the zonked
PoetryIf youre reading this then hello from a bedroom in rural ireland.
