And so, we end this knackered, run down year,
the crazy, wacky types flood into town
to glug down watery pints of marked up beer,

watch the London Eye spin slowly round,
the drawn out, pyrotechnic money shot
as Mayan Armageddon comes around.

It doesn’t matter, end of the world or not,
as long as I can spend it here with you,
watching DVDs back at our flat

as the city fills up with its host of tools,
the droll denoument, Robby Burns’s song.
The forced frivolity will take its toll

before the first of Big Ben’s doleful gongs.


2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. peter litton
    Jan 01, 2012 @ 12:09:11

    Droll denouement… I like it. I looked up both words for exact definitions and they sum up the fag end of the year brilliantly. This made me consider the difference between group pleasures and personal satisfaction.

    I think you may be going through your cynical old git period…however it does give us thought provoking poetry.

    Happy New Year all three.


  2. Niall O'Sullivan
    Jan 01, 2012 @ 12:28:56

    Ha ha! I was born a cynical old git Peter. 😉

    Wishing you all the best in the New Year, thanks for all the inciteful comments. 🙂


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