for whom this bell tolls
By Coolhermit
- 143 reads
for whom this bell tolls
I had gone to the pub for last orders,
and to stock up on toilet paper
an old bloke picking over ashtrays
looked in need of cheering up -
I stopped to pass the time,
‘looking for dog ends?’
‘bugger off - mind your own’
‘s’alright, mate, I don’t smoke’
‘why you looking for dog ends then?’
I changed the subject,
‘bloody cold...the weather’
‘waddya expect? it’s bastard November’
‘climate change affecting you?’
he sneezed and splashed my brand new Barbour,
‘life’s gettin’ ‘arder, friggin’ worser than ever’
I checked my watch – five minutes to go,
‘you’re right I dunno what the world’s comin’ to…’
‘s’coming to a full bleedin’ stop, that’s what,
any day now a nucular bleedin’ briefcase bomb
will blow us all to Timbuk-sodding-tu’
he picked a bacca strand off his lip,
spotted a half-smoked Benson – still lit -
and took a lingering, life affirming, drag,
‘bastards can’t even end the soddin’ world right,’
‘agree,with you there, mate, we’re doomed,’
‘DOOMED! DOOMED!!bloody right we’re doomed,
and even doom ain’t what it used to be -
it’s piss-poor doom these days…
I remember when doom stood for summat,
you could rely on doom - a high-steppin’
black-plumed ‘orse-drawn 'earse, silk top hat doom…
a proper doom…not a poppadoom…TA DAH!’
he convulsed with laughter
then coughed and threw up -
a mouthful of blood
spattered my desert boots
a bell tolled in the public bar,
‘dolente… dolore… dolente… dolore…’
I wrestled with a sudden dilemma
choking prophet or catch ‘last orders’?
‘dolente… dolore… dolente… dolore… dolente… dolore…’
my need of bog roll won the day
as the twelfth chime died away,
I scuttled inside for last orders, me.
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