A Man’s Dirty Night Poem by Joseph Tanner

Consumed in his own thoughts,
In his own little Paris.
People on pass by,
The queue going nowhere,
His pockets are empty,
Everyone asking for money.
The last of his change spent in that greasy spoon,
Washing last night session away.
Two coffee’s and gut buster,
The pounding head slips away into it’s own coma.
She was good,
She was bad,
She wasn’t cheap,
She may have looked it under the bridge,
Knickers to the knee’s.
She complained that she cut her knee,
He nailed her good.
The checkout girl say’s next,
He snap out of his thoughts with a smile,
Hard to hide his thoughts,
Has she checks him out below the bridges.