another real life

Christ, I'm ready made drunk,
my poor partner
stands fighting over our dinner...
maybe I should own up;
I'll be unconscious
in less than thirty minutes.

But, for now, Shostakovich
is on full blast
and the trumpets keep sending
me back to another sip
of heavy arse beer.

It wasn't meant to be
exactly like this,
they were meant to be wars
and moments of all out violence,
some could find this depressing
because instead of the fight
I have this.

A few beers too many,
a woman still willing to care
as dinner is prepared.
I am no more than a mess,
but it seems that it has
come together
well enough
to feel well
whilst the jokes
are told
and I sit
feeling pathetic,
but sometimes
pathetic is better
than something else...


O.K baby
I'll do the washing up.