The Bench By The River - Poem by Orlando Belo
It's six thirty on Sunday morning
and I've been here since three.
I don't sleep much now-a-days,
but that doesn't bother me.
The flies are here as usual
taking salt from my skin,
whilst I'm having a wet breakfast
of blood red wine and gin.
I remember when I was married
I had meals three times a day.
Now, I only eat when I'm hungry,
but very little comes my way.
I live in a one room bed sit,
which is large enough for me.
I don't give parties anymore,
besides I haven't a settee.
I have two chairs and one's my table,
and a sleeping bag on the floor.
A cup, a glass, and a tooth brush,
no need for anything more.
Another bottle is approaching
along with friends of mine.
We'll continue to have our breakfast,
at least until lunch time.
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