Monday, June 04, 2007


An alcoholic poker playing cowboy
listening to Kenny Rogers
finally folded; walked away
from the drink laden table

a crutch disguised as life's white
knuckle ride overdue an accident.

In the past, he'd have too many

Occasionally a couple - not often
coz when he drank he got rotten
locked, loaded, blotto, comatose
brahms and liszt, twisted, pissed
as a newt and drunk as a skunk
or a monkey's uncle

red eyed, pie eyed and sky high
as a kite, spaced out, untraceable
for days on the ale and dashed on
the rocks of a ten day bender.

He'd been smashed, trashed
bladdered, tanked up, lashed up
staggering hammered

and wankered so bad
he got monged off his trolley
and went to hospital unconscious
had his stomach pumped,
jumping out the window
when asked how he'd like to pay.

He'd lost coats, bikes, cash, cards
hats, gloves, books, shoes, shirts
tops and woken up in cupboards
cop shops, hotel rooms, skips
tips, bins, trains, benches, fields
gutters and bus stops.

He'd been a high flying down
and out dosser who could pass
for the proverbial crack head
tramp on a cocktail of smack
methylated spirits
and methadone.

The boast of being being a life
long pisshead ended when .
vomiting over Bob - the one
he called a tit in Kiltimagh
and he weighed up the odds
took stock and knew to lay off
gargle, see out the next hand
exit at the flop, stop, pocket
his chips and cop on

before he fell in the river, got
shot, knocked over by a bus
and crushed under the wheels
of oncoming human traffic
who'd point and laugh at him

casualty on the tarmac of life.


Joe said...

This sound like it was written from personal experience? Or an incredible imagination.

Anonymous said...

too many words - this truth might be stronger pared down. Like the honesty though.