Email Poem

Your IP Address: 13.58.3.158
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
I was strolling down a side street of our little town last night.
Did I say strolling, no that’s wrong; I was a sad and sorry sight,
And God knows what the time was, but I knew that it’s past ten,
‘cause that’s what time the pub shuts and they’ve thrown me out again.

So it could have been near midnight ‘cause when I’ve had a few,
what happens in this happy time I must admit I have no clue,
but there are moments in this state that have a sobering affect,
‘specially when I’ve got the staggers and appearance of neglect.

It comes in the form of torches and a blue light that rotates,
when they’re looking out for felons or the fellow who gyrates.
Thank God there are back fences down these skinny little lanes,
so I can lean against them until the questioning abstains.

I can almost feel the concrete that has often been my bed,
where I can wake up sober if excuses made and said
do not measure up to standard from a normal married bloke,
who should be home and stone cold sober - not rotten drunk and broke.   

It is the wont or freedom sorting wheat out from the chaff,
and I figure with my pretext that is why the coppers laugh,
for at midnight I’m explaining that the coppers think conjecture,
when I said I’m off to listen to a strong intensive lecture.

And this lecture I will listen to is with a message I confess,
about my failure drinking alcohol that causes acts of drunkenness,
but it’s in this situation that the coppers deem not right,
for no one blessed with sanity does lecture late at night.      

I might be in my drunken state and staggering from the drink,
but my message for the coppers who insist on talking ‘clink’,
is that I’ve been to many lectures and there will be many more,
that are given by my darling wife and the dear old ma-in law.
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required