Another Drunken Pariah

ANOTHER DRUNKEN PARIAH



1:    Friday (70 cls of self-loathing)



Cap,
open,
walk,
laugh,
feel the warm draft of the
air vent behind the bookies
down my back - then feel
bad as an old couple glare
from across the park; this
melancholy, however, will
not last, and then I will go
back; to sing and swear
until my lungs turn black.
Now, bottle more than half
gone, I will forget, and be
granted a reprieve. It will
not come cheap, and come
tomorrow I will only be
able to hope that this one
is the last one I need.


2: Saturday (Ashes at the bottom of an empty can)


A layer of mucus like a blanket from the light
                                                                        the morning is                             
                                            black and blue,
                                                              and crueller than the night.

The withering door, invites footprints to the bed,

and I have memories splattered over every pavement.


Then it is an hour of silence; my eyes impose themselves upon the ceiling.

I can't move - not at all, because then,
                                                            then I am awake, and last night

              really happened.



Someone sighs, and the sound of a toppled bottle is heard,
                                                                            and I put my hands to my ears,
and shut my eyes tight
shivering, and half dead,
filled with dread at the approaching farce,
not knowing if anyone will take me back.

3: Sunday and Beyond



So now it will be maintenance,
until the week rolls itself out.
Appearances must be kept,
and appointments attended to.
A facade of effort must be held
firmly in place and never faltered.
Otherwise, it will be to the streets,
where the days are longer,
and the nights even colder, somehow.

So I will walk with renewed purpose,
past the off-license and over the homeless.
I will do what I am told,
and learn to judge those who don't,
because they are the ugly ones,
who won't learn to play the game.
and scramble at our feet for change,
never ashamed for being so human,
but I can never live there,
because I just don't have the conviction.