Grey Day

Grade A grey day

My eyes are on the fag ends* in the gutter in the rain,
And a thousand thoughts despondent play tag around my brain:
'Yesterday,' the Beatles sang, 'My troubles seemed so far...'
But of them I'm now reminded by all the passing cars
Conveying cosy couples and showering me with muck.
I'm dirty, wet and dismal, I'm clean out of luck,
My friends are busy elsewhere, my money's spent on drink,
But a belly full of beer hasn't helped me think.
Why did you leave me? Where am I to go?
If the wind gets any colder this rain will turn to snow.
It's a Grade A grey day, and I'm failing all life's tests,
I glimpse a passing bumper: Jesus saves, Moses invests.
Yes, if I had an ounce of faith I'm sure it would assist,
But you smashed that when you left me with that traitor's kiss.

*"fag ends" is the UK equivalent of US "stogies" - substitute this word
for a US version of the poem!