With thanks to Snow.
Same words different arrangement.
Thank you.
John

Tom
Tom, trapped in a world of smug acceptance.
The illiterate soul waiting
for Saturday and yester-years cartoons.
Tom, neurons strained by dim voltage,
pressured and screwed down to acceptance of no acceptance.
Existence is a blank page.
Institutional remedies reflect featured smiles,
and pats of good boy sentiments.
Good for whom?
Not for Tom.
Tom is an alcoholic—wants out for a drink.
Pressure—pressure—pressure.
He sits in the foyer… helping out where he can.
He craves a schooner.
He can see in his “minds-eye” the grey misty glass and the frothy head.
“No, Tom you cannot go out—no bus trips for you”.
“You sit in your chair and do something.”
He gives a smirk; can’t wait for Saturday.
John Macleod © 2012
Original:Tom
Tom trapped in a world of smug acceptance.
Tom the illiterate soul waiting for Saturday and yester-years
cartoons.
Tom, neurons strained by dim voltage, pressured and screwed down to acceptance of no acceptance.
Existence is a blank page.
Institutional remedies reflect featured smiles, and pats of good boy sentiments.
Good for whom?
Not for Tom.
Tom is an alcoholic—wants out for a drink.
Pressure—pressure—pressure.
He sits in the foyer… helping out where he can.
He craves a schooner.
He can see in his “minds-eye” the grey misty glass and the frothy head.
“No, Tom you cannot go out—no bus trips for you”.
“You sit in your chair and do something.”
He gives a smirk; can’t wait for Saturday.
John Macleod © 2012