Miserabilist

 

home truths from a miserabilist
a poem over two days

Day 1

Family

School

Uni (if you are lucky)

Vocational Skills (if you are unlucky)

Work

Maybe Jail

Death is the great release.

Life is a slow suicide.

The Lockdown

The Leveller

We will all start again from scratch.

It is just that some peoples’ scratches are higher up the pecking order.

Booze, Bookies, Fags & Football

Climbing up the greasy poll until it is time to retire then die.

FOLKS! WE HAVE BEEN SOLD A LIE.

Life is one great big sigh!

My glass is not half empty, it is empty, there is no glass, the shop was shut, the owner had

diversified into glass for windows, that one sided shit that looks like a mirror 

so you can see yourself age.

 

Day 2

Your ‘other half’?

That presupposes that you were not whole when you met.

Some just want a sounding board, a cash cow, security.

Tell the Divorce Lawyer 4 U about how they complement your neurosis.

They know where the psychological bodies are buried

and they will take them when they leave.

My ambition is to have a heart as hard and heavy as stone upon death.

Build that wall against intimacy with the bricks that Trump left over.

He should be impeached for that alone, promising something he never delivered.

A day does not mellow an anti-poet. It condemns.

I am bricking it at the prospect of coming out of lockdown.

Going back to that abysmal normal with traffic jams and crowds.

I might wear a shroud and move through the fair.

Invisible to all but other miserabilists who will nod.  

“There he goes the King of old sods,

I thought I was bad but he takes the biscuit.

When it comes to introspection, he doesn’t half mix it.”