Narrative gives me heartburn

In the “olden days” I loved to write poetry. I think it is hilarious that once online always online – you can google anything really… this one was published in 1999! Yes the olden days –

Narrative gives me heartburn

drinking away the beginning
of what could have been
a thought I let the phone ring
out scull down the tin
and another
bordering on empty I savour
the quiet roar of traffic
petering through the night
like a cat burglar with no guts.

A knock at the door reveals
the local window washer
I’m outa detergent mam
you got some?
Front door open I trudge
my way back
take a gulp from the can
and remember that
I’m out too. The window
washer thanks me anyhow
and I watch him lope
to the corner push both
walk buttons beating the
frothless bucket like a desperate
dog humping a cushion.

Even the strong die on death row
and my guts churn at
the thought I haven’t had yet
sick and tired of the black
sparrow press acid free
book looking at me a foolish
martyr I take my tin
and sit outside on cement
to watch the bats fly over head
they survive on a tree
per kilometer at most I
survive on lethargy and
an hour sober at best my
local’s closing down
very soon and I
just don’t know what to
do with myself drinking
away the end
of what could have been
the beginning.

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