Tommy takes a piece of paper,
sits down to write his poem.
In his minds eye pictures himself
another Leonard Cohen.
For hours Tommy just sits and stares,
he cannot even start,
education did not teach him
to express what's in his heart.
His mind is full of negatives,
put there by state and school.
A lad like Tom should know his place
and never break the rule,
must study hard, then get a job;
work through 'til middle age,
climb onto the mortgage ladder,
let bankers spend his wage.
He must not think of freedom or
indulge in dreamers talk,
but keep feet planted on the ground,
and never try to walk.
When Tommy tried to get a job
he found such things are scarce.
Education is no good without
experience gained first
Those long and boring years at school
were wasted from the start,
dulled Tommy's sensibilities so
he could not hear his heart.
Now poet stares at empty page,
page staring silent back,
Words dancing just beyond his reach
Lead to another track.
Tommy logs on the Internet,
he may learn to write songs
but finds a page that shows him
how to make weedkiller bombs.
Shattered glass and scorched brickwork
alarms constantly ringing
are the inspirational images
that set his muse to singing
Tommy finds his self expression
in conceptual art.
The solution is so simple,
he quickly makes a start.
With a key he scores the paintwork
of a new Mercedes - Benz
as budding literary power
to greater heights ascends.
Burned out cars in every street
empty shops with boarded fronts,
anger and frustration hold sway,
but nobody confronts
the deprivation that gave birth
to Tommy and his tribe.
Where money rules the minds of fools
Poverty of spirit there must thrive.
Ploppies posted through the mail
assail the great and good.
Graffiti scrawled on many walls,
the message must be understood
Then on the civic portal scrawled
just one word of obscene wit.
Tommy's only way of saying
his life is full of shit
No good deed should go unpunished
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