God Bless and Thank Him
Brandon Cook
May I never forget the man whose name I can’t recall,
Who called English pounds squids instead of quid
As a dollar is a buck and not a duck, I’ll never know why he did it
Nor why he never smiled, since I thought he was letting me in on a little joke
But no,
He just ordered another pint and told me of his woes
With no self-indulgence, no pity
No invitation to carry his laundry
Just an honest man, in reality, pointing out all the things that shouldn’t be and icing them with a swig of lager, before a glass of ale
Like we were all old friends
Some sorts are out of sync with life, thank God
We need them, jesters of a mad age
The knaves who personify our frustration, and our longing
Who refuse to run and duck but look at life with pluck and stand out, the sore thumbs,
Shirts untucked,
Taking a cigarette and hoping for luck
Stewing in their longing, for love, amid the rust and muck,
Waiting for the bus
Crayons unable to be pushed into their place within the box
God bless them, those un-coy foxes, and may they find happiness
And may we all find, each of us, trust
On hearts unruffled by time’s dust
Throwing down a glass upon the table, pushing over our squids,
And saying “One more,” with hearty lust