FD ( / )

An Alien's Lament

I would like to pack my gear
And get right out of here
But between happiness and me
Lay thousands of miles of sea.

Here am I feeling the pinch
Shovelling bits of rock and earth out of a trench
Amidst the humid heat and smoke
And the grimy dust that choke.

And that worthless gaffer Fred
Shouting down from overhead
Telling me to shed more sweat
Make my shirt a bit more wet.

The jackhammer spitting hate
Against the rock vibrate
And it's operator Dan
Is a fellow countryman.

Like me he feels the same
Sorry now he ever came
To work here under alien skies
Amidst man created smudge and noise.

The trembling jackhammer make
His hands and body shake
And the perspiration race
Adown his weary face.

He has more responsibility than I
As he has to support his wife and baby boy
And though his thoughts are often of green fields far away
It would seem that he is here to stay.

In pubs I spend my hours of leisure
Drinking is my only pleasure
And as I sit there drinking
Of the Homeland I start thinking.

Then my thoughts return to childhood
To the moor, the vale and wildwood
And my nostalgic mind rejoices
To the thoughts of songbird voices.

Of an excited blackbird shrilling
And a redbreast robin trilling
And a skylark carolling sweet
High above the moorland heath.

And to my mind come ringing
The sound of finches singing
On leafy hedge and tree
Living wild and worry free.

And to get a heartfelt thrill
Standing on a heath clad hill
Letting your eyes inhale
A green and peaceful vale.

And the feeling of delight
On a cloudless star filled night
Watching the pale moon beam
On a rippling valley stream.

There are many people living in this City
Who than me deserve more pity
Who drink liquor for protection
Against loneliness and dejection

Who are cursed with the affliction
Of alcohol addiction
And each morning leave their bed
With sick stomach and aching head.

Here am I a shovel shover
Wormcutter, bar room lover
With an ear ache from the stammer
Of a rock splitting jackhammer.

And the foreman as usual roaring
And the work toilsome and boring
And my thoughts of heather mountains
Flower decked meads and sunlit fountains.

by Francis Duggan

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.