When I was a lad
most people round our way
were barzydown.
It was a world full of piecans.
Men who were barmy, married to women
who wanted their heads examined.
When not painting the railings,
our neighbours were doolally,
away for slates.
Or so my dad reckoned.
Needed locking away
the lot of them.
Leaving certain McGoughs
and a few close friends
free to walk the empty streets
in peace. Knowing exactly
whether we were coming or going.
Self-righteous in polished shoes.
Picking our way
clearheadedly,
between loose screws.