From One Champagne Socialist To How Many More

Saturday night I was in The Nook, in Holmfirth, my hometown. After many hours of quaffing their finest Blonde beer I was turned on by my so-called compatriots (they know who they are so no need to name them).

I was attacked firstly for being against Brexit, then for being a Corbyn supporter, and finally for being a red, or supporter of communism. This by too ex-working class lads from Yorkshire; has the world gone mad I thought.

Anyway, I stuck to my guns; I bought another round of blonde and said I thought it only right that everyone should be able to drive a BMW, like yours truly. And why shouldn’t socialist be millionaires, or be ladies with titles?

Maybe its because I was an apprentice to the shop steward at Hepworth Iron Company, or that I rode on their shunting engine with my grandad, from his terraced house with tin bath and outdoor cazi.

Crowedge

Ten minutes of a tea break
Time to write a quick one
Instead of a puff on a cigarette
Or a fattening buttered scone

It comes to us all, someone said
Start living, for livings sake, then
Forgetting what we’ve read

But you’re only a young man, lad
You’ll live till you’re eighty
Unless you quicken up, going mad

That old railroad shunter
Puffing up and down the track
Pullets, outdoor lav’s,
Your old dad getting the sack

Maybe it didn’t happen like that at all
But no time for a reference book
It’s what I remember
Without a longer look

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About christopheratcoastmoor

Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by.
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