No One's Going To Rescue You Poem by Mark Heathcote

No good you, banging your head on those railings,
Honey, no one's going to rescue you but you.
You might as well climb over and jump right in
that river-Mersey or better still get some
well-needed help. And no good you, pacing
up and down these streets ten-thousand-times
or more. No one's going to even-notice-your fall.

No one's going to even notice you missing.
You've gone and burnt all your bridges, Honey
and those tears you cry like rivers
there just going to keep on coming
like a big old hungry crocodile's like
a sink full of dirty dishes wishing someone-
would have wiped them clean away.

"No good, you say" there is far too-
many "know-it-alls" that's what I have to say
wearing mother Teresa's overalls, you should
mind your own, god damn business. Who asked
you to put your oar in any way?

Before you blow off at me, Sonny Jim you
should retain some dignity what little is left
and find some mercy for your own poor heart
I see your soul is crying, Honey and your mind,
your-mind-is torn apart.
But dear, finds it in your heart
to count yourself up off that canvas floor.

So you've fought hundreds of rounds against
the great Mike Tyson. And-man, how that-man-has
got respect-for-you. Shake-yourself-down he says, mate,
pick your head up off-those-weary beat shoulders
and feel proud that man, you're still standing here today.
Boy, that's what I say too. Sure you've-got-the stamina
you've-got-the willpower
all you need now is to learn how to flower.