POETRY: LIGHT WEIGHT, HEAVY ON THE MAKE-UP BY PAUL TRISTRAM

As I pass them on a drizzly Friday evening

sitting upon the cold, uneven cemetery wall,

dressed in mini skirts and vest tops in January.

Talking shit and swearing like Troopers

“The only fucking thing keeping me on this

fucking wall is my fucking fanny-pad, ha, ha!”

Listening to monotonous techno on smartphones

whilst drinking and belching like Miners.

I always wonder to myself why they chose Vodka

instead of Lager, Cider or cheap Wine

because they obviously can’t handle the hard stuff?

By the time I walk back past in an hour or so time

they’ll be sitting in their own vomit, crying,

fighting or laying there unconscious.

One weekend, my wife went to help them

try to find one of their front teeth which had been

smashed out on the wall when the girl fell over.

Maybe I am just getting old, No, I am getting old!

I just don’t understand why they just don’t drink

Beer and smoke some Weed and have lots of fun.

But in saying that, at their age, I was taking LSD,

Amphetamines, Sniffing Glue and waking up

Battered, Bruised and barely alive in Police Cells!

So what the fucking Hell would I know anyway?

Written by Paul Tristram