Something funny eh?
Scally-wags in the cupboard,
behind the teacups.
Like beetles they roam,
free as the summer breezes,
all around the home.
The tea towel is wet,
without seeing just one dish,
but by toilet dips.
He breathes heavily,
tapping out a few last words,
before he’s sleeping.
The cigarette burns,
and hot ash falls on the floor,
burning the carpet.
Where did they all go,
those people in memories,
of my ill spent youth.
He scratched the coin,
Down across the window glass,
making it to scream.
I’m going for gold,
and that’s lots and lots of gold,
if only I could.
The light is so strange,
it seems to stare hard at me,
when I am woirking.
Jealous it must be,
of the light from the window,
clear and beautiful.
