Tonight the tide is running high
And from my garden in the dark
I hear the hidden curlews call
And just beyond, two fields away,
The muffled roaring of the sea.
Above my head the empty sky
Save far away the shining stars
And lighted splendour of the moon.
The air is cold upon my skin,
The wind has blown and moaned all day.
The lighted kitchen is inviting.
I heed its call and go inside,
In time to catch the evening news.
Of great concern as usual
Is football, opium of the people,
A record transfer’s fallen through,
Supporters clash, abroad a stabbing,
A player’s failed a drug test,
Comments sought from managers,
The clubs, F.A. and Premier League,
And so it goes, until at last,
It’s time for Northern Ireland.
And here we learn a new peace deal
That everyone had hoped would solve
That island’s ancient tribal feuds
Has broken down, collapsed again
And each side bitterly blames the other.
The next item goes on to cover
The Tories’ annual conference—
I leave the room preferring darkness and the moon.
Pete Crowther
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-six-o-clock-news/
