I met him earlier today,
Said “You alright mate, want to get in from the cold?”
He muttered “Same old, same old” but took me up on my offer anyway
Now I’m turning it to poetry, which might seem pretentious
But that’s just how I process things that seem such a mess.
So me and this mutterer sat among the clutter
Of tables and chairs
As he told me his story with better airs than I could ever muster -
The same old story of systematic abuse and corruption.
Bought up in a world of dodgy cops and dirty stop-outs,
This man with a deadly diagnosis
A pugnacious preacher, a street-based socialist.
Most people just think he’s pissed.
We never came to a conclusion
And my guilt racked through me
As I heard myself say: “Sorry mate, gotta go now to a night of poetry. Can’t be late - gotta meet my middle class destiny”
So I left him, this vison with voices in his mind.
We parted with a shared notion of numbness
That I’ve not known ‘til tonight.
Said “You alright mate, want to get in from the cold?”
He muttered “Same old, same old” but took me up on my offer anyway
Now I’m turning it to poetry, which might seem pretentious
But that’s just how I process things that seem such a mess.
So me and this mutterer sat among the clutter
Of tables and chairs
As he told me his story with better airs than I could ever muster -
The same old story of systematic abuse and corruption.
Bought up in a world of dodgy cops and dirty stop-outs,
This man with a deadly diagnosis
A pugnacious preacher, a street-based socialist.
Most people just think he’s pissed.
We never came to a conclusion
And my guilt racked through me
As I heard myself say: “Sorry mate, gotta go now to a night of poetry. Can’t be late - gotta meet my middle class destiny”
So I left him, this vison with voices in his mind.
We parted with a shared notion of numbness
That I’ve not known ‘til tonight.