Angry At The Death
They laid Hughie to rest,
With profanities, he left,
Angry at the death,
And the crowd which
pushed him there,
The cup was spent,
And the cup was hurled,
with hate,
Shattered in the bushes,
Staggering, he blessed
them in dark language,
Locked down,
Cursed with vigour,
Till the morning
never came again,
And there was
roaring silence,
Demons exorcised,
head clear as
flames consumed,
And rage quelled over
salad roll and chips.
© Michael Garrad March 2011
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