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  You are @ HomeAdults Poetry

Poetry

Source: Adults

Author: Jan Miklaszewicz

Title: Yo ho ho.

Debut mums on the old estate,
yo ho ho and a bottle of milk.
Two-bed flat and they smell the bait,
yo ho ho and a bottle of milk.
Ride the rail on the benefit slope,
broken token for a ‘teenth of dope,
kiss the twist of the hangman’s rope.
Government coughs what it’s always paid,
wrapped in a trap by its own hand made,
Damocles dead with a blunted blade.
Yo ho ho and a bottle of milk.

Lately nights on the old estate,
yo ho ho and a bottle of pop,
spill the shrills of under-eights,
yo ho ho and a bottle of pop.
Nothing comes and anything goes,
still dressed up in summer’s clothes,
Velcro plimsolls, bloody nose.
Solace slips from mother’s breast,
smacked up good in tea-stained vest,
out of sight be damned the rest.
Yo ho ho and a bottle of pop.

Four-fold dead on the old estate,
yo ho ho and a bottle of Meth.
Green and sweet on the Reaper’s plate,
yo ho ho and a bottle of Meth.
Wind tears leaves from the sapling boughs,
rain lashes down on the wedding vows,
who'll mourn an addict anyhow?
The uniform will take their time,
stop off halfway down the line,
loathe the culprit, hate the crime.
Yo ho ho and a bottle of Meth.

Bashed up wives on the old estate,
yo ho ho and a bottle of beer.
Fists tattooed with love and hate,
yo ho ho and a bottle of beer.
Fall three flights from a friendly shove,
fingers cut to fit the glove,
hide inside an empty love.
Need no statement, charges stick,
three square meals in Dartmoor nick,
arms engraved and shoulders thick.
Yo ho ho and a bottle of beer.

Warfarin on the old estate,
yo ho ho and a bottle of pills.
Far off pharmacy, rattling crate,
yo ho ho and a bottle of pills.
One-mile waltz for a two-mile script,
emphysaemic plastic hip,
bingo wings in calico slip.
Sixty lights, a tub of marge,
son banged up on Portland barge,
buried dreams in breaker’s yard.
Yo ho ho and a bottle of pills.

Family of one on the old estate,
yo ho ho and a bottle of hope.
Baggage packed for a moving date,
yo ho ho and a bottle of hope.
Obsidian sky and its silicate stars,
silhouette streetlamps, burned out cars,
marks in the darkness, iron bars.
Take me away from this desolate place,
hurdle a horse in a different race,
chance me a glance from a delicate face.
Yo ho ho and a bottle of hope.
 



Published on writebuzz®: Adults > Poetry
 

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