The First Dropp Smile, The Last Dropp Shatter Poem by Not Long Left

the boat, unmanned drifts across oceans
slave to the sea, sand streches for miles
yet never shall it return, a victim of power.

he always smiles when savouring the first
swig of the day, memories of mussel eating
on the coast of southern france.

half way down, never half up, comes seeping
the bitter bubbles of the past, her bloody
face, the laughing boss, the mocking cash
machine.

Swirling the stubborn drops at the bottom
nothing but rage, silent secluded rage
ten o'clock news, bloody bodies, yet drunk

and indifferent he is at the cinema, until
the ending comes and the cries are his, the
bed is cold, the cupboards are starving, the
books are fake without the observers eye.

Bottle on the floor, arms in crucifix mode
as they rest on either arm of the armchair
all is empty no matter how much he adds
just three stage memories and a lonely bottle