Poetry

Saturday, 19 October 2024

The Horse's shoe

 Oh Jamie

The polish on your glasses

Is not same

I feel I forget my own

Name

Ee

There's a hill named frog

It's drunk up all the grog

And

I think that it's such a 

Shame

ee


Well you run a bar like a Queen

We are so far

But ever green

we think We're middle aged

But actually it saged

The wisest amongst us

Is never seen


I had 2 pints of Blindman's bluff

The blond beer

Was the golden stuff

You served it like a queen

It was all so Steve McQueen

But you know I'm really no

Film buff


If there was some place to

Leave my package

Like DPD or Amazon

Raffle

Perhaps the post office

Had returned


Would you like to show Saint George

Just how we remember his name?

We shine the flagpole

We raise

The flag of blame


I prefer blame to shame

But both have skin in the game

Both can make the conscience flinch

Both can make the face pained pink


It is an honest account

At least that's what alcohol amounts

To

And no, no, no doubt

His wife would have something to shout

About

Oh Jamie

You drive men made

With your body shaped like a jar

So curvy, it's like you're a star

Of the overwrought at the bar


I have to stay I noticed

But do I think you'd be 

The one 


Making friends with an alcoholic

Is not the way to beat

The cholic

He already has your number

Written on

His shirt sleeves' umbra

Shadow of the fallen race

Yet he is the one

Of poor taste


No religious nut is he

Only One flew over the cuckoo's tree

And state and all is free

When we let all things just be

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