The Taste Of Cyanide Poem by Mark Heathcote

What can he 'resist' he's just a feeble man
Who leers at all the ladies, big & small?
Tall or short, a scoundrel he likes them all.
He quit smoking, but like a boomerang
He returns again and again because,
Because he enjoys each long pungent, kiss
The taste of cyanide burning his lips
That gamble of not pulling the short straws.

What can he 'resist' he's just a feeble man
Down the pub, necks as many as he can
He's what many might call a journeyman,
his mug is all over Instagram
Thinks he's the bee's knees from a bygone age.
A likeable chap some mothers might say
But won't settle down, gone too far astray
His looks are fading, longings disengage.

What can he 'resist', on the homeless list?
Not those free soup kitchen meals, a blanket
Not those coins tossed aside on his jacket
Nor the knife at his throat, where men subsist
What can he 'resist' he's just an ex-serviceman
Done his best for queen & country, one time.
Now praying to survive the wintertime
Find a warm bed, quit smoking; drink his last Dram.