A little poem that came to me over the weekend. The story is true but I don't think he was ever a sailor
As kids we would find him
Slumped in his senile stupor
Bottle in hand
Propped
Up against the soccer pitch changing rooms
Dark it was
The sun had set on the scene
and his days
Drunken drunkard
We knew no better as we teased and tormented him
Placing little pebbles in his hair
thrilled at his unexpected next move as he tried
to bat us away
just his arms moving
and his lips
as he tried to say God knows what
in his incoherent way
Getting up he stumbled
and shattered the bottle - glass
landing on the shards; bleeding hard
Now we know better
and have sadly seen
too many lost
to a bottle of green
Hopefully one day realising
it may be better down the sink
Before we too, like the drunken sailor
end up on the brink
drowning in the demon drink
Photo taken by me of wine glass and bottle in a sink.
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Tidbits
PoetryAd hoc poems for special events and occasions, or odd pieces in between books. Who knows, they may make it into another collection one day!