The Drunk
Drunk
A gravel voice growled an indiscriminate swipe,
booze soaked mind in hard lament,
gestures barely noticed amid the grumble
of discontent, slurred and incomprehensible.
He propped up the bar with a rustic finesse,
as if limbs planted and grown within the dark wood,
and a head bobbing to sometime fall,
when lights out time and drinks are done.
Until then he wavers
between haze and unconsciousness,
mumbling spite and good will lines amidst a would be laugh,
if only his mouth would work, at all after dark.
Come midnight he’ll be sitting in the gutter,
up against a lone streetlight,
that carves a circle out of street,
with all the bugs in melodious song to keep him sound asleep.
Tis no life for a young man, to be a drunk,
not enough tragedy to fill his mind, to have that lowly sunk,
but here he sits his mind addled,
forever up the creek without a paddle.
videos on YouTube and book sales on website thoughtsforabeautifulmind.com, Amazon and digitalprintaustralia.com.au/bookstore
- Brutal Night - March 30, 2021
- Like a Breeze Recalls - March 27, 2021
- Torrents - September 5, 2020
Tony, your descriptions in this poem are amazing. I have been drunk in my time and I can imagine exactly what you described.
Thanks John, there’s nothing like experience, appreciated your kind words. Cheers!~
Tony that is unfortunately becoming more and more the way of life for younger people here in Latvia. Unfortunately they see no perspective and no way out. As tragic as you poetically put it and it is tragic, your ending made me sadly smile.
Thanks Rasma, yes it is serious, but a little wry smile at the end helps. Appreciate your kindness.
A young man’s libation often his his stale stagnation in early morning rise. A hangover bar none, I must say I’ve felt some. To toddle and stagger, it’s no matter to a drunk. For we be jolly and try not to stumble into folly, though the night is young and a young man is out for fun. But oh my, this old man remembers the days of being on the run from that bottle of rum that cursed me through and through, wanting me to have it all done. Oh my, the many a hangover, that haunts me from my past, from that evil bottle of rum that cast me on my bum. Rum, Rum, Rum I screamed where’s my bottle of Rum. Tony my poetic friend, you stirred some bitter memories here, I am thankful to have survived those drinking days past.
Yes my friend a dire end, to be resisted to the last breath. In youth I too partook and now in age my body says no, Although on my 60 birthday I drank 3/4 a bottle of Chivas,,, oh dear. But that’s not a habit anymore. Glad you appreciated the poem. Cheers!
Oh, boy! Does this poem ever smack of downtown Reno. Downtown used to be so lively and exciting. It was full of people out just to enjoy the fabulous restaurants, the sounds and laughter in the casinos, all the lights and delights, the celebrities who loved to mingle with the public. Gone are the days when a tourist or local could run into stars like Frank Sinatra, Fats Domino, so many famous people. Now it is nearly a ghost town with empty casinos and the only people on the streets are the drunks or prostitutes. Locals now avoid downtown as much as possible and head to south Reno where the newer and livelier casinos are. Very good poem, Tony, that portrays the drunk in all his sad life. (I was going to say in all his glory, but what glory is there for one so fallen? These type people need help.)
So true Phyllis, its really very sad, but as you say, so many have fallen to the bottle and such a waste of life’s potential. Glad you related and I guess anywhere there’s casinos and alcohol you’ll find the fallen. Thanks Phyllis.
Great work Tony. It reminds me of my youth when I wanted to be a drunk so that I could join AA to meet girls.
Thant’s a novel approach to being a drunk, or perhaps a part-time drunk. lol Glad you enjoyed it my friend. Cheers!