Four in the morning

telephone calls

are never moments of great news

departed from excitable lips;

come quick, the pub landlord

has said all are welcome to

drink the place dry,

you awake, good,

you have won the lottery,

come to your front door,

I have a million quid for you

in cash, blow

it all on excess, you

are being transferred to City, good

luck kid, the big time beckons;

Four in the morning shrill,

is like the fire brigade siren,

you know it is never a sign of

celebration.

Ian D. Hall 2017