On a scale of one to ten it was a three
Mornings are like that
My hearing was fine
I could hear the chimes of the town clock
But my sight was impaired by alcohol
Not that I wanted to look at anything
But work called
I whimpered with regret
The bed looked comfortable resting there
My toes curled on the cold floor
Oh, I can see!
It was a misty day
It was a misty me with misty eyes
Scattered clothes, unfriendly mirror, tattered face
It was a raw day
It was a raw me with a raw tongue
My edges were frayed.
Flinging death aside I showered and wished to drown
I didn’t, so my score clicked up to five
Damp me, dump clothes, fresh togs, drink juice
I”ve played this game before
Juice, juice, juice the colour of the sun
Which curves its way up into the sky
for me and everyone else
Why doesn’t it have day off?
I am a man of straw, a man on the edge
Out of the house, skirting the dog do
The world is vast, too big, too small
My pretty neighbour is at the bus stop
I’ll ask her for a drink tonight. She smiles.
I feel so good.