At St. James Tramstop, Dublin
They sit there drinking across the track
Talking loudly, drunkenly swaying
The man looks like on on smack
And I hear snatches of what they are saying.
And they don’t get on the tram
That heads for Tallaght, that has pulled up
And wary of them I am
As from a naggin a woman has a sup.
Then to our side some youths from
The flats there across the way
Id suppose the older ones also come
From them flats, where the children play
The barechested boys
Proud without their shirts to be seen
Their bravado they employ
As in front of the girls they pose and preen
Acting the hard men strong
Each trying to look more big
And the girls look not to care
As from a shared flagon of cider they swig.
And those who often the tram use
Pass no remarks on their standing there
But I from the country refuse
To be near them, as under my breath I swear
At the tram that has not arrived yet
And I walk away a few paces
And I my jaw to the world has set
Yet think, if fate has with us swapped places
And I from those flats was one
Of the residents, and from there had came
And my life in their world begun
Would I like them have turned out the same?