The pub swan - a found poem

1              A pub swan sits and downs his beer

And drowns the fuels that brought him here

I stand and watch and chat some, too

But not to him; it wouldn’t do

A pint of heavy in my hand

A sip, a scowl, for I have planned

To have this alco-syrup last

Until the entire evening’s passed.

Friends arrive and gas away

The waste from kegs shall fuel their say

They put to rights as best they can

The world, their wife, the law, the man

But still I think here of the swan

To understand just what’s gone wrong

Into my pint I stare and grin

And think one day I might be him.

Until I wander, crazy bounds

I’ve left my friends to paint the town

Alone; it’s really not my scene

For I have home, and I have queen

And in the days to come I’ll see

I have what’s sought and ought to glee

That powered lives may let off steam;

But a life of swan’s an empty dream.

And so to you this verse I send;

For ne’er are seconds quick to mend.

The end.

You know, I can't help but think that the "I" in this poem is a bit of an arse, don't you think? And the second verse reads like it might be being spoken by the swan him / herself, as does the third, and maybe the sixth. Anyway, it is what it is, I suppose.

Y