You know you don’t count when you’re not counted in.
Let me begin where it starts at the breaking
if hearts can be broken at all.
I give my all, but still fall before the finishing post and the most I can hope for
is a beer,
nothing too dear as the price index shows.
But I don’t get a look in and those fuckers are drinking the good gin, the one they keep under the counter.
I don’t count for fuck all.
I won’t let them win because I have the will to survive, damn their eyes if I don’t and whether I count or do not I have the hand that takes the pot,
so fuck you lot.
I’m told I’m too old to complain, I should be thankful for what I have got,
fuck the lot of them.
Gentleman scholar I may be, but fucked if I’d follow that crew.
You know it
I know it
this situation is fuelled by
I escape now and then from the pen’ not much to keep me there anyway,
no share and share
no one to help
do I fuckin care?
I don’t count,
neither do they.
© 2016, John Smallshaw.