The Scrapyard of Life

 

AN ANTI-CAR CULTURE POEM

https://www.andyfisher.ca/

 

You and your car are driving me mad

20mph is too high

If I had my way I'd make you crawl along like a snail

The particulates in your exhaust emmissions are the nails in the coffin of a pedestrian's lungs

If I ran the Department of Transport I'd make everyone carry a bike on a roof rack

and when I pulled you over dressed as a cop

I'd force you to struggle to your destination and I'd take a sledgehammer to your car 

and with an iron bar I'd scratch 'CLIMATE CHANGE' into your door.

You haven't got a clue because you're an unconscious bastard queuing for your MACCY D's 

in the DRIVE THRU

You're shit, eating shit, sitting in shit

You're driving us all to our deaths

How many automobiles do you think there are in the world?

Bring back the Trabant driven by smoking beagles wearing Nazi uniforms

Bring back the Model T Ford and its crank handle

Shall we start over again?

Have an automobile amnesty

Hand your car in, in return for your legs?

Only blue badgers allowed to wreak havoc

I keep looking on Autotrader like an auto addict, a jalopy junky

Maybe just one more

The next car could be the answer to my dreams

I awake in a cold sweat

I am stuck in the car in the scrapyard of life 

Dancefloor Disassociation

Dancefloor Disassociation

 

 

The late eighties and early nineties were my domain

but I was too square for rave and too scared of drugs

so it was off to Clwb Ifor Bach we trooped

with pounds in our pockets and hope in our hearts.

Sticky floors and loud music, sick in the bogs!

I wasn’t but it was always there, in the urinal or on the floor.

Some band that we’d come to talk over.

The S4C actors we admired and wanted to be

thinking “What must it be like to play for a living?”

My mates were all having fun or so it seemed

but I was starting to disassociate, to switch off and wind down.

Not in a chilled out fashion but in a “What is the point kind of way?”

They can’t hear you talking over the din and this is not the place

to discuss Mao’s Red Book or the impossibility of Welsh Independence.

I was shit scared of girls/women and the more I drank, the crazier I became.

I wanted to talk about revolution

they drank their Bacardi and thought I was insane.

Almost always leaving early for the shuffle and stagger down Westgate Street

It was what everybody did so I did it too

but I hated it.    

https://sharkfishinginwales.blogspot.com/2012/01/booze.html