Dead Man's Curve
By Harry Whelan
You, you evil old man
You exist purely to spread woe and dismay
Now you are trapped in a ditch in the dark night
Upturned car on your leg, you can’t get away
I wonder as the icy cold claws, feels,
Reaches deep into you, you look back on your days
And realise the misery, which shadowed your steps
And feel remorse for every one of your hates
Your lungs are filling with freezing air
Every breath sends a chill down your spine
You grow weaker with every passing moment of night
You wheeze but for help but you don’t have much time
I, for one, won’t hesitate to dance on your grave
I will beat down the soil on your coffin lid
Your death certificate will hang proudly on my wall
I will make sure the world knows what you did
History will know you for who you really were
People will learn of your treacherous ways
Your executive arrogance will be common knowledge
You are hated by all in your final of days
So farewell you, you horrible fiend
I see corporate achievements aren’t keeping you warm
As you freeze to death in this remote dank dark ditch
Your heavy BMW traps you in the clutches of harm
Copyright © 2004; Irish Poetry Explosion. All Rights Reserved.