Beaky's Blather

This one’s a writer; though he’s only a bit

He dreams of a book launch for a book not yet writ

He’s completed his book, well… only its cover

He’s really nothing to say, except -‘pour me another’.

This one thinks he’s a comic though he’s barely a wit

He imagines folk love him, but they think him a git

He wants people to listen, but they clearly don’t bother

His jokes are all leaden, better – ‘pour him another’.

This one’s an MP, from her party she split

She spoke up in Parliament, with resolute grit.

Now, she can’t blame her colleagues, they simply discovered

She had no vision to offer, except -‘pour me another’.

Each one is single, in my pub here they sit,

with no partners or fond ones to love them a bit.

Their eyes watch each door swing, they hope for a lover.

But they’ll be alone now forever sighing – ‘pour me another.’

Their lives aren’t what they hoped for; they’re all a bit shit

Each expected a great life, and this isn’t it.

They don’t blame their parents… well, they all blame their mother

Their lives just aren’t working until – ‘I pour them another’.

I stand here each evening, and I see their gaze fix

On the optics and bottles, the drinks that I mix

‘One for yourself, barman’… I’m hailed like a brother

‘Don’t mind if I do sir,’ and… ‘I pour me another’.