She was a quiet woman

Kind eyes

And the brightest smile

She’d bid you good morning

And the softness of her irish lilt

Would make you believe

That she meant it

And she usually did

 

She liked a drink

More than one

Or even two

Trouble was

She couldn’t stop

Once she started

She got lost

 

Her kind eyes

Were replaced by glaciers

Her soft irish lilt

Became more of a banshee scream

Medusa’s head revealed itself

Sitting on the shoulders

Of kind Kathleen

 

Pleasantries morphed into obscenities

It twas as though

She had swallowed the devil

And taken to vomiting bile

Her demeanor

Normally calm

Raged with the force

Of a full scale storm

Curling cats tales

Sending shudders throughout the town

 

Ranting and raving

She’d stumble the streets

Assaulting anyone

She happened to meet

No one was safe

Not even police

 

The local cells

Smelt of her

Cheap perfume

And whiskey

Oozed from every wall

-She knew them well

 

She liked a drink

And she died

With her best friend by her side

As they tumbled together

Down the fire escape steps

Kathleen, with the kind eyes

Took one drink too many

So with her bottle

She there lies.

 

C.K. 22