Smoking (Ashes to Ashes)
Do they really need a nipple,
While they quaff their tipple.
Even though the barmaid tries’
She gets a cloud puffed in her eyes.
The smokers artificially mellow,
Whilst the curtains slowly yellow.
The sixty a day oaf coughs up his guts,
As into the tray he squeezes his butts.
I’ll giv ya a fag for one of ya jokes,
But ya’ll not gi’ me back one of yer yolks.
Even the high priced pisswater is only rented,
To help a lame mind be temporarily reinvented.
The stench is all around the pub,
Surely there’s another type of club.
Pickle your brains if ye must,
Even the earth’s got a feeble crust.
Old friends are fine for what they are,
But nicotine fumes keep them afar.
A glass or a fag in the hands will they always last,
Dominoes, Chess and Shuv hapenny were games of the past.
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Comments about this poem (Smoking (Ashes to Ashes) by Charles McMullen )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
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