Sadness: The Mangy Cat

Sat in my baby blue dressing gown
with a good meal inside of me
and a ready supply of red wine,
I can't help but think of the things
that are elsewhere;
the footsteps from above,
the twenty year olds
with their acoustic guitars
and angelic voices
that sing empty lyrics at me
when I'm too drunk to be quiet.

The mangy cat that used to limp
across the road,
against all odds
to another nowhere
whilst my mother slept,
not so soundly
waiting to call me
at some ungodly hour
to remind me of the mess
that I left behind
for this one.

The cars drive past
too loudly,
and in a few moments
the students will be badly drunk,
making their ways home
just outside of mine.
Their sadness is yet to come;
they may even dance on
without it,
but my own sadness
can't beat the footsteps,
the dying cat,
the phone calls...
not to mention
the entire sordid direction
that we are all
in someway pushed in.

However, I have a holiday booked
and Sarah is on the couch
just next to me...
My sadness doesn't stand a chance
against any of them,
but right now
I do.