A Quiet Night

I sit crying into my beer
other customers avoid me
as if I had the plague
none will ask why
nor offer consolation
they’ve all seen the look
of the broken hearted

They all know the cure
is a gut load of grog
and “no-strings” attached sex
yet my sobs shake my shoulders so much
not even the most sleazy woman
approaches me

My tears make my chips soggy
my sniffles drown my steak
in a special sauce
my dinner looks like a stew
that went off three weeks ago
yet I still ate it
misery needs strength
strength and a gut full of grog

So much grog
every woman looks pretty
so much grog
you don’t know how you got home
or if the scratches on your
face and arms
was from a fist fight
or falling into a fence
a brick fence because there’s no splinters

Your mind awakens recollections
of conversations faces
being pushed into a cab
and the sudden realisation
you’d heard of Hermaphrodites’
but had never met one
until last night

And again this morning

One who states nothing happened
but sits there a little too smugly

Finally you shower slowly
go to work by the longest route
bump into the cause of your heartache
who ask “How your night was”
you hesitate a little too long
before replying …
“It was a quiet night!”

Damage © 9.5.2008

A Quiet Night

Damage

Joined April 2009

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