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DRINKING NAILS

Rumors echo deep, in smudged, half empty glasses,
Varnished tables creek, to same old sordid tales,
whilst the malting dog, in his beer sodden spot,
awaits his drooping master, to drink his last drop.

Again tonight, it's just a tad too much.
Like every night, there's a valid reason.
Again tonight, it's just a tad too much.
Like every night, there's just no pleasing.

Last orders called, but he can't hear,
When between his ears, eight strong beers,
Fumbling, climb down, from bar stool,
A mother's son, becomes a fool.

Like every dawn, the dry rough pallet,
and every dawn, the same excuse.
Like every dawn, the thumping head,
and every dawn, confined to bed.

One sad day, his time, will come,
In aqueous oblivion, a life undone,
A hapless wander, into nocturne strife,
Be it passing car, or the wielding of a knife.

Another drink, to forget what's done.
Like every drink, it's just another one.
Another drink, and ha ha, then you're stopping.
But every drink, another nail, for your coffin.

Learn more about this author, Colin Ward.
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