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DOWN ON MY LUCK
Wandering above a sea of glass
in the soft April weather,
wandering through the yellow grass
where the sheep stand and blether;
roaming the cliffs in the morning light,
hearing the gulls that cry there,
not knowing where I’ll sleep tonight,
not much caring, either.
I haven’t got a stiver
the tractor’s pinched my job,
I owe the bar a fiver
and the barman fifteen bob;
the good times are over,
the monkey-man has foreclosed,
the woman has gone with the drover,
not being what I supposed.
I used to get things spinning,
I used to dress like a lord,
mostly I came out winning,
but all that’s gone by the board;
my pants have lost their creases,
I’ve fallen down on my luck,
the world has dropped to pieces
everything’s come unstuck. Roaming the cliffs in the morning light,
hearing the gulls that cry there,
not knowing where I’ll sleep tonight,
not much caring either,
wandering above a sea of glass
in the soft April weather,
wandering through the yellow grass
close to the end of my tether.
© A.R.D. Fairburn
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