Mr McHeath, the would-be rock-star,
Plays his bass and scorns the black ‘dots’
Travels abroad to practise the riffs
But fate disappoints him:
His chords go amiss.
Later, back home he takes up his career.
His band plays small gigs
Mainly heard by his friends,
His drinking companions,
A rock-chick or two
But day-jobs give bread and the butter to boot.
Great disappointment soon sours the mix
So, Mr McHeath turns to art-work for slicks.
Nothing will come of his dreams,
His sump runneth over
Drain bottles and dirt
His life ends with closure:
From Wimps and Pimps
© HMH, 2013