Mark Heathcote (22/03/66 / Manchester)
What the atom-bomb shall I do?
'What the atom-bomb shall I do'?
When I can't control my bowel
Or bladder to urinate or do,
That all important number 1 or number 2.
Of course you can blow the world
To smithereens for all I care.
If I'm wheeled into that nursing home
There'll be no airs or graces, I swear.
I be better off in the sanatorium,
Blazing-mad, about the ECT chair.
Than saddled in an orderly routine.
'Wondering who the hells washing my hair'.
To be fair there's not much difference
In-here-or-out-there! There's no control…
When-all's-said-and-done, I'm a nuisance!
A-has-been, never will be again, tadpole!
Oh, what faculties I took for granted…
When my wiring and plumbing was fine.
Such anemic-drunks, eternally, lauded
Laughing at the Alc/vol in their urine…
As being only 3.8 they're lining the bars, in
Care homes, less than prostrate like tenpin-
Bowls... Look 'there's that tiny skip. Again'!
Over there by the yellow soiled-waist bin,
So old chaps I guess I'm officially now done in
Comments about this poem (What the atom-bomb shall I do? by Mark Heathcote )
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