Shane is planning to rob a bank
And decideS to trust me
‘She’d make a fucking brilliant getaway driver’,
He opines, and Gerry agrees.
‘Well, I don’t know,
I stop at zebra crossings,
And I’m pretty slow’.
‘See? That’s good,
If you were a fast driver
It would be very obvious,
No, a slow getaway driver is good’.
Later they sing;
‘Woman come in the name of love’,
And Shane shouts
‘I am a Catholic,
If I am dying please call a priest’.
‘Are you dying now?’
‘No, but I will be in the fucking morning’.
Then he laughs the bloody bar down.
SILENCE AT THE BAR
The old man grimaced and silently imbibed his pint
His withered wife glared her whole life at him
And pointedly moved to a seat
At the far end of the joint
Two sons, forty and finicky,
Silently contemplated the following day’s races
While the daughter and son-in-law,
Long run out of things to say,
Blew smoke in each other’s faces.
Only the children were living;
The girl was chandelier-swinging
And the boy was table-top walking.
“Shhh!” said the mother,
“be quiet you two rascals,
We can’t seem to hear ourselves talking”
from my collection of poetry – ’67’, now available @ http://www.amazon.co.uk/67-Poetry-Tom-OBriem-Book-ebook/dp/B00JVBLM9C/ref=la_B0034OIGOQ_1_8?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1412338420&sr=1-8