killing time [millenium poem]                                    

 

 

 

 

A man strolls past the town hall wearing a sandwich-board for
 
a coat, and it ain’t for the next closing-down sale, or the time of
 
the next coach,

 

and it ain’t for the price of a fake tan

or bringing the government down,

or happy hour, or two-for-one,

or the circus coming to town,

 

or a secret truth that God knows,

or the end of the world being nigh,

it says NO NEWS IS GOOD NEWS

but it don’t say why.

 

           

 

killing time [millenium poem] 

 

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