The concept of binge-drinking exists only in the UK. How many of us imagine it will lead to this?


Alcoholic

With the banana held out before him, as curved as the bow in his knees,
he staggers on the wrankled road of dreams,
damp, stinking,
lost

Gisalite luv,

and a breath filled with flotatious fumes
fix my eyes like acid gas
Whilst the banana wavers in my sight
like a weapon of minor destruction,
black eye staring,
drooping.

I light the cigarette, can it hurt?
Lined face alight in a flash of flame,
draw and smoke.

Fankoo

and as I move on I sense his wavering step departing,
homeward?
I hear a bottle slosh-glug, another toke on the root of the problem,
dropping the banana, unravelling the brain.
Turning the corner from my sight.
I look back and see
banana alone on the cold paving, lost.

Alcoholic, gone.




Poetry by Carey Lenehan
Read 878 times
Written on 2006-11-04 at 11:56

Tags Alcoholism  Life  Addiction 

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Dani
very good write. i can relate to this. well done.
2006-11-04