By Michael James Treacy
Published: October 16, 2007
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Boys from Brisco Mount
were not expected
to be high achievers,
although the brightest
might attend tech college
and aspire to be fitters
at the biscuit works.

According to general opinion,
we came from a long line
of lower class no-hopers
and were scheduled,
as a matter of course,
to keep with this tradition.

A legend concerning
a hapless native,
caught defiling
a helpless ruminant,
had led to us all
being labelled
with the same tag
and added to the consensus
of inbred ne’er-do-wells.

Factory fodder
was the destiny
of most of us
as we left the school gates
for the final time,
which was a better deal
than previous generations
whose destiny,
(apart from sheep-shagging),
was to be cannon fodder.

 

Michael James Treacy claims that poetry is the vocabulary of his heart, soul, mind and occasionally his rear end. Please visit his website to confirm this..

 

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