Give the Anarchist a Cigarette

Give the Anarchist a Cigarette,
for he wishes to break the law,
and smoke it.

Give the Anarchist your best lie,
for he wishes to break the law,
and speak it.

Give the Anarchist something to kick at,
for he wishes to raise his fist and his foot,
and break it.

Give the Anarchist the door,
for he sees the sign,
but really wants to walk on the grass.

Give the Anarchist his usual,
for he wishes to see his koda-chrome habit,
and break it.

Give the Anarchist the benefit of the doubt,
give the Anarchist his youth,
for everything is old now.

The Anarchist sits beside himself,
next to a mirror,
which reflects another mirror.
The Anarchist sits in a crowd of anarchists,
who share his face and his fingerprints.
He knows that if one of them is caught,
they are all going down.

A man in a hat, says he never knew that,
and threw a tip behind the bar,
and he says to the Anarchist,
‘Hey Man, you can’t smoke that in here’.

The Anarchist looks up,
and knows the man has never lived the
same life that he has.
The Anarchist knows that
there is no time like the present,
but time has never been a gift to him.

The Anarchist’s wife,
just wants a quiet life,
and that was what he promised her.
She thought an Accountant would be
a safe bet.

Never likely to stray.
Never likely to argue.
Or to disagree.
But that was before he retired.

A man who is sick of numbers, is sick of life.
It was one of his little jokes,
but he was the only one laughing.
Still, the Accountancy kept him out of trouble.

Give the Anarchist a break.
He will soon tire himself out.
Like a dog, barking at the shadows
that follow him everyday,
like his reputation.

Dave, the Anarchist’s son,
likes Bach, and the girl next door.
Not for him Heavy Metal, Tattoos,
Or late nights spent on the booze.

Jessie, the Anarchist’s Daughter left home,
nearly dying of the same boredom,
which nearly claimed her Mum,
before she took up with the Vicar,
and the Milk-man.

People talked behind the Anarchist’s back,
about how he was so blind.
He asks the Vicar what he should do,
but the Vicar never makes eye contact,
and looks the other way.

The Anarchist’s Wife now buys her milk
from the Supermarket.
She does not see the Milk Man anymore,
She now goes for the younger men.
She likes the muscle that is needed
to stack the super-market shelves.

Give the Anarchist a Cigarette,
He wants to break the law,
and smoke it,
in a pub,
which has done for passive smoking,
but still does it’s best to encourage

Passive aggression.

Big Dreams.

Just one last pint.

One for the Road.

And has 999 as the first number on its speed-dial.

Give the Anarchist a Cigarette,
What harm can it do?
He has no company to keep,
The Gold Watch and numbers
Abandoned when no-one turned up to say good-bye.

Give the Anarchist a Cigarette,
which he never smokes.
He just keeps them in his pocket,
and gives them to the kids
who ask if he has one going spare.

The Anarchist’s Daughter
bought herself a size 18 wedding dress.
She is only a size 10,
but she thinks she will grow into it.
The Anarchist knows he is fighting a battle.
No-one called Quentin ever led a revolution.

Give the Anarchist a Cigarette.
Give the Anarchist one last pint.
and one for the Road.

Say goodbye to the Anarchist,
He will be sat in the same chair tomorrow,
maybe Dave will come with him.
They will sit in silence over two
half pints of Shandy,
Father and Son together.

Give the Anarchist a Cigarette,
for he wants to break the law,
and smoke it.

Dave said he looked up to his old dad.
Trouble was, he looked nothing like Quentin.
A man who spent his life only letters away from Question.
And no answers.

The Anarchist downs his last pint,
and puts some money in the juke-box.
Daniel O’Donnel vents his spleen
over a hackneyed rock and roll rhythm.

The Anarchist plans to march on London,
to a Soundtrack of Englebert Humperdinck,
and the New Seekers, for when things really kick off.

The Anarchist bought his ticket to Old London Town,
and spent the day at Euston, with a sign saying
‘Repent now, for the end is nigh’

The Fat-Cats in their silk ties, and watches
That cost more than Quentin’s House look at him,
And sigh.

A religious Man looks at Quentin:
‘So which side are you on?’
The Anarchist replies that he is for
Free-Speech,
Trial by Jury,
And Wensleydale Cheese.
‘So, you are a Mormon then?’
asks another man with a Beard,
that may or may not be real.

Quentin returns to the Station,
and buys an over priced slice of Bread,
and another Cigarette,
To add to the 14 that he finds in his back pocket.

The Anarchist returns home,
as Dave flicks off The Sky at Night,
and looks at his Dad.

‘I am leaving, I have a new job,
in a heavy Metal Record Shop.
Do you like my Tattoo?’

Give the Anarchist a Cigarette.
He wants to break the law
and smoke it.

Neither of his parents are in,
When Dave posts his keys,
Back through the door.

His Dad is enrolling on a Politics course at the College.
His Mum is at the Supermarket,
Watching the Adam’s Apple of their new trolley boy, as he speaks.
She does not like his voice,
But the last thing she has on her mind is conversation.

The Anarchist and his wife were happy, once.
But then she got religion, and a good dose of that.
The Vicar was never really a man for the Cloth,
He was quickly moved to a new parish,
Quentin had liked him.
They had a lot in common.

Dave liked the record shop,
He had found his tribe, at last.
Two much conformity can do one’s head in,
Said the Politics teacher,
When Quentin’s new course started.

Quentin took up with a lady from the Course,
But he never told his wife.
She never told him about the discount she got.
They lived together quite happily.

Quentin’s Lady Friend asked him for a Cigarette.
He fished one out of his Pocket,
Lit it, and gave it to her.

‘Er, Missus, you can’t smoke that in here’
Said the bar-man, handing over a cocktail
That glowed in the dark.

Give the Anarchist a Cigarette,
For he wishes to break the law,
And Smoke it.

The Anarchist spends his Monday’s
In London with a plaque that reads:
‘The End is Nigh. This sign is three hundred years old’

Quentin passed the course,
And moved out of the house
That was a museum to his past.

Now he and Dave drink full pints of Bitter,
And discuss Hendrix, and Metallica.

The Anarchist listens to Heavy Metal
On his I-Pod,
And texts his daughter,
Every night.

Jessie is now a size 14.
She thinks she will fit the Wedding Dress next year.
It was only cheap,
She bought it as an investment in her future.
Now all she needs to do is meet a Man.

Her Mum and Dad warn her not to marry
An Accountant, A Vicar, a Milkman, or a Shelf Stacker.
They only agree about the first one.

Give the Anarchist a Cigarette,
He wants to break the law,
And smoke it.