Donna

She treats me to a vile drink of lime and tonic,
Cut-rate gin. The day's been ugly, wind and
Rain, and work was as it always is, an endless
Shift of hauling freight, a beast of burden's
Daily plod from bed to backache, barely paid.
I drink. I wince, but try to hide it, smile,
Think I ought to sleep, but she has asked
Me here, and says she'll feed me, speaks my
Name as if it was a portion of a song a jungle
Bird somewhere would sing. She has me
Lay upon her couch, and rubs my back,
And says she loves me. I decide that sleep
Must wait, and pull her to the couch with
Me. I feel her radiating comfort, feel my
Backache fade away, and know that, as
She does so often, she can make the evening
Obliterate the awful day. She is, again, the
Sorceress, the savior who redeems the
Sinner through her sweetness and a strong,
But really awful, drink.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 27 times
Written on 2013-10-15 at 00:32

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text