There’s a Bob Dylan banjo
playing slow in the background
cowboys on horses that don’t make no sound,
trigger fingers itch but they wait for the pitch
and the Sun’s going down in Richmond.
Give your thanks to the Lords of the banks
and the Queen of the five pound note,
I promise to pay
if not today then tomorrow
will have to do.
The silver screens have talked to our dreams
and our nightmares waltz onto the stage
I’m taking a break and trying to wake,
but the alarm refuses to ring.
Dylan is singing some song that I know
the banjo’s still playing slow
the bullets are flying in my direction
it’s time for me to go.
and the Lords say to me.
‘if you got something it’s something
that we cannot see’,
the Queen of the five pound comes
down from the throne
chewing the fat from an old
chicken bone and
it’s the dream
a scream and
I’m back untoward in the ward
..or so the doctors say…
© 2017, John Smallshaw.