The Joy of Drink

A terrible poem to explain my recent weekend.

Days of grinding torture
that come to blissful end.
My wet and blurry eyes
staring down a U-bend.

The beginning of the night
started unawares.
The following day I’m sleeping
half way up the rigid stairs.

Not the greatest look
to be greeted at the door.
The estate agent bewildered
watching me crawl along the floor.

That horrible day has passed
and now I feel…… OK.
I’m sitting in a Starbucks
watching lives fly away.

I order the ultimate roll
the Sambucca fighting tool.
The first thing I’ve eaten
since drinking like a fool.

A choir of singing angels
start chorus in the shop.
A pretty worker puts my roll
up on the table top.

Her brownish, reddish eyes
make my weekend float away.
My torturers memories
seem to be put at bay.

So if you’ve been hitting hard
the weekends choice of drink.
Come sit and eat at Starbucks
while having a little think.


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