Lager Lout

April 26, 2015 | Posted by Peter Jakobsen | PETER'S WRITING, Poetry | 0 Comments |

Hogarth's 'Gin Lane'

Amid outdoor furniture, alight,

on concrete concourses of the night

he stands, atop the French police,

wielding the bloodied fleur-de-luys,

lustily crowing and thumbing his nose

at the prospect of the high-pressure hose.
We can drink up his lager grin

as his fist lands on another chin

attached to someone seeking to restrain

his torching of the city, ere he boards his train.
“I will tear away what is not mine”,

“I shall roam and leave my sign”,

“When I pounce in the park for some r & r”

(o-ho charmer, how came you there?)

“Putting on airs won’t go very far”

(Nothing not ours has a right to care.)

“We’ll decide what amounts to fun;

When your tolerance is overrun”.


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