Bull.

Bull
The learned men who failed to see
The end of faux prosperity.
Will mow the lawns of hockey clubs
Then laugh it off in rugby pubs.
Their debts discharged , their balls enlarged
Spewing bull as on they charge
Leaving debris in their wake
The precedent of take and take.
Innocent before the law
So none will draw a shortened straw.
To pay for sorrow by them caused
Instead leave town with quiet applause.
And when the clamorings abated
They’ll re-appear invigorated
A few more wrinkles, grey and lines
Prepared again to become swine
To jostle grunting at the trough
With scorn to raise their heads and scoff
To bad for you, I feel your pain
Its just too hard to try explain
I haven’t grasped it yet myself
Just gathered all considered wealth
Economics hard to figure out
You really need to grow a snout
 Like pigs plamassed their bellies full
Then charge us for these piles of bull
Forever still to squeal and pull
The matrix on our minds like wool.
We’ll live to see the hindsight lost
To gods of silicone, like frost
Will freeze the past and paint the scene
And rub the record almost clean
so that our kids will come to learn
The legend of that man Ahearn
His Fianna that failed to heed
The wanton avarice and greed.
Give pedestal to honor fools
Why not give the kids a day off school?
So in ten or twenty years or thirty
We’ll stand below a shrine to Bertie.
Who’s offered harakiri in suggestion
A cure to those with deep depression
A pig plamaased his belly full
Its thirty grand to hear his bull
His luncheon dates you pay per plate
Still riding high upon the state
And we just shrug and call it fate .
So son come to the school and learn
The legend of the man Ahearn
The Celtic Tiger reared from cub
from teat to meat to country club
To servants civilly discharging
Debt collectors for The Gathering
Wasn’t it mighty ,wasn’t it fine
To exist in that moment in time
For all we’ll be remembered for
Is Fianna Failing to create a stir.
Or maybe one or two might write
A verse or line that found some light
And spoke of truth inspite the blight
Of dreams that keep us up all night
Creating worlds to fit around
Reality now run a ground.
And bleary eyed we peer and squint
At history  turned delinquent
With papered ink refusing type
When we all clapped ,and bought the hype.

Copyright Cormac Lally.

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