Charles McMullen (24th March 1955 / Eastleigh, Hampshire.)
Smoking (Ashes to Ashes)
Do they really need a nipple,
While they quaff their tipple.
Even though the barmaid tries’
She gets a cloud puffed in her eyes.
The smokers artificially mellow,
Whilst the curtains slowly yellow.
The sixty a day oaf coughs up his guts,
As into the tray he squeezes his butts.
I’ll giv ya a fag for one of ya jokes,
But ya’ll not gi’ me back one of yer yolks.
Even the high priced pisswater is only rented,
To help a lame mind be temporarily reinvented.
The stench is all around the pub,
Surely there’s another type of club.
Pickle your brains if ye must,
Even the earth’s got a feeble crust.
Old friends are fine for what they are,
But nicotine fumes keep them afar.
A glass or a fag in the hands will they always last,
Dominoes, Chess and Shuv hapenny were games of the past.
Comments about this poem (Smoking (Ashes to Ashes) by Charles McMullen )
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