ramblings and things

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At the Paranoia Poetry Club



They all give thanks



For the NHS and their



Cheap Prescription tranqs.



The recovering drunk,



The failed suicide 



Both sit together 



Side by side by side



Waiting for the mic



To pour into the air



Their personal tales 



Of angst and despair.



 



I sat there, of relatively,



Quiet contented mind



With no social ills



Or axes to grind,



Listened until I couldn’t 



Take it anymore



And at the first opportunity



Escaped through the door



To eagerly drink



A cold pint of porter



The wonderful taste 



Of real Liffey water.



 



My regular attendance



Really could I think



Drive me right back 



To excessive drink.



I don’t know how many 



Such clubs exist in this land



But I’m sure there’s a case 



For having them all banned.



Paranoia Poetry Clubs



Can drive a body to despair



Just by the process of



Sitting and listening there.



 



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The Paranoia Poetry Club