Am a Drunkard
I was never a drunkard,
my life made me look awkward
and i no longer enjoyed sitting in my yard.
i will wonder all day looking for something hard.
a cold beer made from the berries from the orchard.
made me feel a little harbored but less restored.
And so i wondered
to the streets of our old town.
from one to another and for nothing i searched.
maybe for something to make me feel a little down
and fill my now upset stomach yearning for something strong.
a few strides down the aisle ,my feet follow the beats of an old song.
in here there are men and women dancing,
and some have bottles in their mouths swallowing,
at the counter i order some cold water ,
a few sips and am feeling a little hotter,
and oh this water tastes like the berries in my orchard,
but the music and the wails makes it more refreshing.
a few more hours in the dance floor am swirling ,
and hour after hour my little restraint was freeing,
as i danced for song after song,
i felt this was the place i belong
but all this did not last for long
as i collapsed on the floor out of exhaustion.
I woke up swallowed in guilty ,
to home i ran quickly,
and to my family i lied easily,
As usual i did my chores neatly,
an as evening came i felt thirsty ,
and as i trekked down the hill i longed for that place.
Copyright © Justine Mokua | Year Posted 2017
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