John F. McCullagh
Dylan Thomas - Poem by John F. McCullagh
The first time that he saw the girl
he proposed right on the spot.
It helped to get his courage up
that he'd had many a beer and shot.
Theirs would not be a summer's love
that flares and quickly fades away.
It was a fifteen round affair
where shadows lengthened with the day.
Fidelity, not their chief concern.
They had three children and many a glass
The artist was consumed by drink.
He chased skirt at every chance
He was drowning in encouragement
though no one ever needed less.
Some say he was consumed by fears
of the shadowy unwelcome guest.
On the day that he began to die,
to slip into last last good night
He nearly drank the tavern dry
Eighteen shots of the water of life.
He was comatose when she arrived,
the dancer who he took for bride.
'Is the bloody man still alive? '
'Just barely'. the attending nurse replied.
Slowly, surely, he drifted off
like a vessel making way
Dylan headed for the west.
no rage remained to save the day.
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