MJD, a poem: The Black

A pint of black to cure the head; to fear the way of emotions dead. I seen the rain from the bed so still – no deterrence, other than watching eyes. Off to work she went so. Pig meat, butter, bread – and only the real butter, the Kerry gold: cream. No education today kinder, the swell is grand – an executive decision was made in hand. Enjoy the day off as I – sinking The Black.