The finger picks

‘They’ll have your guts for garters’
and that is just for starters
they will then take your fears
marinade them for fifty years
and serve to you
out of the blue
your pension plan.

who’s the Man?
not me.

I pick a string or two
on the bluegrass
practise rolls
several chords
and all the time
they’re waiting with
sharpened swords
to cut me down,

who’s the Man about town?
not me,

I can’t even afford some company
I’m a stay at home,
a couple of riffs
a strum or so
me and the banjo
a bit like
me and the wife
a bit like
could this really be life?
I have to sit and ponder
on this.

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© 2018, John Smallshaw.