PAY DAY

Ernie's shuffling, peddling, feet
had often crossed my busy beat -
Collecting bottles, dressed in rags,
with odd things stuffed in plastic bags.
He had a house, both cold and dark;
yet so much warmer than the park.
A single lamp, a sweat soaked bed,
and stains from Possums over fed -
And two sad sorry souls next door
where Urban Legend Experts swore
that Ernie's mattress (mind the mould)
if you were game, was lined with gold.

I'd heard it too when I was young,
in my hometown, from everyone.
That old girl scrounging round the dump
was rumoured well to have a lump
of cash as thick as my dad's fist
so when us kids one night got pissed
we planned a midnight rendezvous,
but didn't have the guts… would you?
Ernie's friendly neighbours did,
yet misery would haunt their bid,
as commonsense was hurled away
and in they marched to earn their pay.
Curled up tight the pauper slept
while clumsily his Nightmare crept
then, Hell awoke him, "Righto Pop
let's open up the lolly shop!"

Ernie stumbled blind and felt his way
towards the door where yesterday
he'd left the house to climb the drive
and watch the Meals On Wheels arrive.
But these fresh lads were dining in.
Five knuckles caught his scrawny chin.
The steel caps sent him on his way.
He died stone-broke…and so were they

Now Ernie's gone to where they know
that shiny things don't always glow
and wealth accrued in one foul play
will curse us to our final day.
He'd seen it all, and there's the shame,
those two boys never knew his name.
Nor did they sit and share his fire
and meet a bloke they might admire;
A man who once ran mad and free
and dreamt of easy cash (like me).
He was a walking matinee!
He knew it all…but so did they.

A few days later Ernie's ghost
was perched where I had seen them most.
Behind the eyes of guilty men,
who spilled their guts upon my pen.
And if we're measured (like they say)
when we confront our lowest day,
those two tough kids looked mighty short
when they were ushered from the court.
For no weight sinks them like the rock
they carry handcuffed to the dock,
and, nothing kicks a youthful gut
as hard as a cell door slamming shut.

Except the linger of the pause…
before the silence bares her claws.