I don’t trust gin
it really winds me up
it grinds my gears
and never fails to half-empty my cup
I don’t like halves or quarters neither still
I don’t like when my glass is even one tenth under-filled
I don’t trust people who sugar coat their time
with pointless observations and arbitrary whines
I don’t trust wine and I’d argue it’s a sin
that’s a point I’d like to raise in any parliament
I’ve heard heaven sends things but nothing falls this way
I’d like to see the map he reads or his faulty compass face
I don’t trust much which surely is a fault
I wouldn’t trust the thickest safest
hardened steel wall vault
call me skeptical or a raving pessimist
but I’d like to think there is some good hidden somewhere in the mist
we always say foggy because behind is still the source
so why does no one ever find the smooth amongst the coarse
I don’t trust the sane or the over-zealous kind
have you ever cried at pictures painted
by the stable mind
I don’t trust the stars or their superstitious luck
I’d much advice you never trust the same old council muck
I don’t suit yellow and I don’t suit myself
I don’t suppose you’ve ever left a dream upon the shelf
it’s really not for me it’s never been my knack
the corners always seem to fling me spinning from the track
I don’t trust gin
it gives me panic attacks
and I’d never trust them
they’ve never had your back
ABOUT
I work as a welder in Falkirk, Scotland and detest every nanosecond of doing so, these poems are a brief and silly escape.
Moonbow Magazine 