POETRY


Harry

Harry, what a scallywag, a pure and unadulterated hustler,
Never a moment, without looking for an edge, the opportunity to get ahead,
To charm and manipulate any given situation, all to be gently controlled and exploited.
Everybody is in the game, no exceptions, family, loved ones or friends,
All there, to serve the greater good of Harry.
Wasn’t a bad footballer, but never had a chance or the discipline,
To succeed or obtain any notable achievements, doomed to fail.
A likeable rascal, to be kept in his place, a born loser with a smile,
Was in a right state, the last time we met many years ago.
Will we meet again when I return, or is it too late
In the day of the hustler, to find him playing in the sun,
But like so many others before, has fallen by the wayside, lifeless in the gutter