This Lunch-Box of Fate
When toast-eating poets have eaten their fill
And gelded each pantomime horse
When they've torn down the tramshed which houses the still
And shown not a shred of remorse
Then tolls the bell
When Adam and Eve, in one ill-fitting gown
Have shattered their suitcase of doom
When they've argued the apple and talked the tree down
And sent the snake up to his room
Then opens Hell
But when, on an evening so placid and pale
The hurricane sweeps from the North
When the houses are humbled, and torn every sail
And only a fool sallies forth
Then cracks the shell
When romantic murderers strangle your friends
Before the dessert has been finished
When the mob tears down transoms in search of amends
And the wealth of the world is diminished
There is a smell
Envoi
Thus, when the sky winds down
The narrow lanes of this old town,
It's best to be a clown
Contributors: | P, Roland, Apsley, loaf, fester, Beefy, Anon.. |
Poem finished: | 3rd October 2002. |