I walked on Hoe Street's molten tarmac
Trying to take the cultural temperature
Instead I met Mickey
In his cups
Some, most of us can't afford to be existentialists
We rail and carp
And it's back to work or the dole queue
On a grey Monday.
Mickey. berated me
For not quite living the dream
That he perceived I was projecting
The truth is I was tired
Of his half-cut assumptions
And the tenner I gave him
Was a very cheap pay-off.
I've never seen him since
Though wish him well
I'm not so very different
Only nurture offered me a better example
Otherwise I'd readily
View life through the amber lens
The Scots-Irish disease:
'I'm a recovering melancholic
In the Jehovah's Witness protection programme...'
Carter cracked at the bar,
Breaking the purgatorial Sunday hush
In this secular temple
Sacrements in bottle, keg or draught.
Benediction in a hanshake
And a deft one-liner.