A BOTTLE-NECK BLUES
A terrible thing happened to my friend and his family today.
He took his life on an ordinary Monday. Hung himself by the neck
From a tree. Left this life and just went away.
Leaving his loved ones to pick up the pieces.
His mum couldn’t stop shaking at his funeral
Paid for by us, his friends
Her rickety car matched her blonde hair.
It was not fair what he did to her. Selfish. So fucking selfish.
Wild and more than a little desperate as I knew he was.
Now she is a nightingale ghost singing to me of the insanity
Of leaving young parents to bring up children isolated, unfree
With no help from anybody. Her voice echoes
Across the years of coping, of scraping by; while
The rich and old have money untold. We should fly
Secret kites on secret nights just to see our children
Smile, forget their troubles, be happy for a while
I’d love to hear him sing like the blessed nightingale.