Halcyon Days Poem by Neil Solan

Do you kick the stones on your way to work?
Do you kick them until your feet begin to hurt?
With your hands in your pockets
And your eyes to the ground,
While your legitimate answers are doing the rounds,
A gentle reminder of the years gone by,
An influx of memories asking you why.
Promoting your regrets on a screen on the wall
Spanning your entire life
But when I come round to call,
You pick your head from the ground and fix it to the wall.
A working class dad and a working class mum
Doesn't give you the right to proclaim you're a bum,
Your posture is low and your hopes they were high
And these uttermost pores ensure that you cry.
The halcyon days will turn up out of the blue
And when the time comes you'd better stick to them like glue,
But if this spectre speaks, hear his one tone drone,
Tell him he's not welcome in your damp and lonely home,
Vaccinate yourself with these leagues of pearly talk,
Go outside and walk the walk.
The wall is your canvass as in Heaven as in Hell,
These lips are yours as in kiss as in tell.
Impute your newly found aid to your grandson on the shelf;
Boxed, new and ready for seventy years of hell.