We'Re Not Abject Snails In The Slow Lane Poem by Mark Heathcote

Everything, that's done or not done—
Has a knock-on-effect…
It's like stepping-on snails, during the night.
'Oh, so I'm a little abject - melancholic.

People like me want to win the Euro Lottery,
For sure get pissed and frolic—
Be called an alcoholic'. There's no effort in it.
You've just got to be knee-deep-in-it.

So, we've got more of a right to be stepped—on!
Than say a snail making its lonesome trail…
Those in power might say. We deserve it.
But, God - willing I, we'll make

A farthing, a bob, a shilling or two!
Current to today's living - keep hold of those shells.
You know the ones above your mortgaged heads
Paid, kept in intact: Before they take their Vat.

Before, words of another melancholic soul
Bleeds dry your hearts sapped will… whole.
And even more besides, still…
Cause life and living isn't on trial-out for hell.