Friendship. Loss.
His hands shook
His face contorted
He fought with
His stomach
Every morning
Palsy’d whiskey
Into his coffee
At breakfast
Thought no one
Noticed
As his new day
Was inhaled past
His vomit rotted
Teeth.
His breath stunk
His skin was
pallid
He hadn’t washed
His eyes
Were like
Dark
Stained glass
Portholes
As he peered
Out his blurry
Life at the
World.
Through the
Dregs in
A thousand
Glasses.
3rd Engineer
Nicky.
From Tauranga
New Zealand
My friend
Old friend
I covered for you
when you couldn’t
Arrive on the
World
I laughed at your
Drunken antics
I carried you
Home
Up the gangway
I put you to bed
With a bottle
In your bunk
For the shaky
Hours.
Hid your lighter
So we wouldn’t
Burn to death
I held you
When you cried
As reality
Appeared
Lost women
Lost dignity
Lost health
Lost life
When you died
Liverless
I cried
For myself
For every rotten
Bottle
I’d shared
With you.
Every time I’d sat
Across a bar
and heard you say
“Tomorrow
I’m gonna stop”.
raypool
Tue 29th Jan 2019 11:08
Although I have been fortunate in my life to have been spared such horrors as you relate I can a see a beauty in the writing which transcends it , if that is at all possible. Poetry needs to be grounded in truth, and this shines out. The sad thing is that it runs contrary to the perception described in conscription adverts. I wonder if it would deter those who are planning to join up?
My two pennyworth Phil.
Ray