Waiting For Green Poem by C M Rice

Mobile phones with their special ring tones,
Our generations become simple human clones,
Q. Why can’t we see this? A. We do what we’re told.
Stood here, waiting, in Dublin’s cold.

I look around and no smiles are seen,
None of the ambition of the 90’s scene,
I wonder if anyone thinks at all,
That they rob Peter to payoff Paul,

Here in my country, I stand helpless,
My country looks back, it couldn’t care less,
What’s happened? What’s wrong?
The craic and never ending singsong,

It’s all in the pub where the Irish seem happy,
Forgetful of all, from car loans to nappies,
The air of friendliness; so simply put by Larkin…
Wounded dogs I hear on lonely streets are barking

Many great words written, none of them were read,
The colour I’ve been waiting has turned a crimson red,
It hasn’t changed at all - I have, I think,
Stepping out of the bath and into the sink.