Just Another Manic Morning

Old Scottie’s got a cob on Can’t find his favourite chair Just back from a mini reunion And he can’t find it anywhere. Not yet got the nerve to tell him It went the middle of last week, Mike gave it to a charity shop When he had a fit of pique. Martin’s sat quietly crying, Had his recurring nightmare Of serving back in Bosnia And he’s in a fit of despair. Almost time to open the Drop-In. There’s no cow juice in the fridge. The centre without milk is like A scene from Pork Chop Ridge. Thirty seven coffees yesterday And not a single one was black. I’ve sent somebody to the shop But they’ve not yet arrived back. The centre for broken soldiers And I’m the Duty Office nerd, Just whinging and ing This morning is all I’ve heard. They’re all physically fit but Their wounds are concealed It’s very unlikely some of them Will ever be fully mentally healed. Always the chance of a flashback, An attack of doubt and fear, And it can bring some relief When a fellow veteran is near. They’ve come back with the milk, The mugs are lined up and clean, Thanks be to the man who invented The essential dish washing machine It’s almost Drop-In time, The Duty Counsellor is on his way, Noel and Gordon are at the door, Time to start another manic day. Old Scottie calmed down Said he didn’t really care The Counsellor brought Martin Out of his Bosnia nightmare. The mugs all washed and clean All ready for opening next day The Drop-in’s locked and closed Time for home and I’m on my way.