The Drunk. Poem by PAUL COLVIN

Have you watched a drunkard walk or watched his mouth when trying to talk?
His legs of rubber match his face, his lack of words and lack of pace.
He looks as though he’s worked by strings but that’s the feeling whisky brings
He’s back and forth yet standing still and all of this gives him a thrill.

Can’t even manage a simple swagger, his face contorted much like Jaggers
He’s all at sea but still on land and no-one stops to lend a hand.
He looks as though he’s on the moon, the way he moves, the way he swoons,
Miraculously he doesn’t fall, he thinks he’s indestructible.

A lamp-post’s now his only friend and cuddles it to make amends
He’s found his tongue and found an ear, he thinks he’s home and home is here.
His bed is now a hilly street, where passers by won’t stop to greet
This uncouth man upon the ground, whose head is lost through drink he’s found.