by | Jan 18, 2008 | Poetry | 0 comments

They call this a pass, a pass to where?
When there is no door for the one’s issued in orange
I was too old for a blue, to young for a green
And not disabled in body for a yellow
The twenty to thirty year olds, they said
Were strong, needed to stay and defend
Defend what? All that is left,
Is dusty scrubland,
After the comet came.
It came at night, caught us unawares
A technical hitch, in the technology, they said
A computer glitch.
Well that’s what happens
When you employ monkeys
I said at the time
It wouldn’t work.
Now all I have is a pass,
A pass to nowhere
Whilst the monkeys; go deluxe
First class
My world is theirs,
To reclaim at last.


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