Mornings are like that

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.