Blossom Hill Road

Bar, restaurant or Café
it doesn’t matter which;
A glass of crap chardonnay
to help throw the switch.
Me and Brick
together, waiting for the click;
that kick;
the one that helps us to forget,
life really ain’t worth shit.

Sinking another crap chardonnay,
the second one today;
just half an hour gone
and ready to enter the fray;
Listen to the loquacity,
soaking up the mendacity,
down at the American style Café
watching the vain;
drinking to erase their pain;
desperate for life to attain
that rosy coloured hue;
the shade that only booze can do.

That’s it I’ve done it now;
no more work for me today.
The third glass of crap chardonnay
is on its way…
and, just like me…away.
Into a mindless, numbing, starkness,
hoping to illuminate desperate, desolate darkness.
Stygian demons pulsate and fade;
while flashes of erudite perception cascade.
The price to be paid a fuzzy blur,
an alcohol induced mole,
determined to punch another hole,
into a rancid, grubby, gin soaked soul.

The third is gone and I can’t wait,
to order more, to order four.
world is looking great
might even get a date!
Scanning the room,
crap chardonnay lifting the gloom.
That young blond,
maybe she wants to form a bond?
But I don’t want a Mephistophelian;
still naively looking for two eyes in a million.
Hey…I know
it’s the drink talking now;
but after three I could tell her how…
to do it.
trouble is…I just can’t stop doing it;
putting the world in its place;
educate the whole mendacious human race,
wipe out all its ills,
pay all the bills.
But not, of course, before
I’ve had some more.

Gonna go get a double,
maybe even another couple.
What’s it to be?
Vodka? Gin? Martini?
Maybe all three…
might even get to eight.
But all that will have to wait;
no time now to vent this spleen of hate.
Have to listen to the vacuous;
pontificating, fatuous;
sycophantic, slatherings;
empty blatherings;
of the motley few
that make up this chavvy, slap headed crew.
Inflated ego’s matching bloated opinions;
talking down to us… obviously unworthy minions.
Can’t remember now how life got so bad,
must be something to do with how many I’ve had.
The third martini slid down double quick;
seems to have done the trick…
can see Brick…
and… thank god… have, at last, heard the click.
Thought process has at last slowed…
words come, but are slurred and bowed…
Flashes…and gaps… appear…
must keep drinking…
until I’m certain…
I’m no longer here.

Copyright © DC 2005