In my short life, many drunks I’ve seen.
They sing, they howl, they stumble around.
Their angry wives wonder where they’ve been,
rolling pins poised, drunken heads to pound.
While hubby maneuvers through the streets
dancing, singing a happy bar tune
with goofy smiles for everyone he meets
dancing with stars, winking at the moon.
His head is bobbling, his eyes solid glazed.
He wears wrinkled pants with wide open fly,
his shirt a road map of dried mayonnaise,
punctuated with sweet blueberry pie.
Who hovers inside the red-nosed clown?
Is his soul weeping from being alone?
Why does he hide? What knocked him down?
Stop! Listen. In the shadows hear him moan.
Sadly, this occurs much too often around Christmastime...lonely souls that seem to have given up on life. Or maybe life gave up on them...
Makes us stop and think...
Micke
Reviewed by Victor Buhagiar (Reader)
Reviewed on December 21, 2006
There is always a reason for habitual drunkenness. You brought this out splendidly in your poem. Sad, very sad. But who can say there are no sad things during Christmas? Have a Blessed Christmas, Jo. Victor
NOW AVAILABLE!
This book is a limited edition, and copies are hand numbered. It will NOT be available through Amazon or other distributors. You must purchase it directly from the author or from this site. It is hard-back (not the spiral bind seen
Share
Print
Save
Follow
Regis
good iamgery ... potent message ...
Makes us stop and think...
Micke
Is his soul weeping from being alone?
Why does he hide? What knocked him down?
Truly sad tales, and probably many different reasons hidden inside.