Len Webster's 'Winter Morning' Poem by Len Webster

You wake up heavy-headed
And you start to sing the Blues.
You turn the radio on
And get the early morning news.

A one-way journey starting,
But you don't know where to go.
You just begin by farting
And hoping it don't snow.

It's the bloody English winter
And it plays darkness in your head.
You kinda wish you'd retired
And could damn well stay in bed.

You hate the sound of Radio Four.
It's too early for that hassle.
You can't bear to hear some old bore
Spouting from his ivory castle

And pretending he has answers
To the savage people's prayers.
He's doomed, you're doomed, , you stumble,
But you navigate the stairs.

By evening it'll be over,
This one-off winter's day.
You'll have survived the routine gloom,
Or maybe not - who'll say?

When my mum once went shopping
She said she'd meet my dad.
She never did. He collapsed.
A heart-attack. How sad.

You go out in the morning.
You don't have to come back at night.
One death is all it takes
To put you out of sight.

'Make sure you have clean underwear.
It's sudden this and that.'
Good advice they used to give.
I think I'll wear a hat.

If nothing else, it'll protect my head,
Provide me with a rudder.
Prevent me from thinking much,
Make me smug and warm. I shudder.

And I wake up heavy-headed
And I start to sing the Blues
And I turn the radio on
And get the early morning news.

A one-way journey starting
And I don't know where to go.
I just begin by farting
And hoping it don't snow.

It's the bloody English winter
And it plays darkness in my head.
I'd kinda wish I'd retired
And could damn well stay in bed.