The Swans Absent Colour

Vodka's admirable character,
Vegetates roots as well as kindling,
And has the stipulation,
To dispatch your fists extended,
To seek the adjacent irritable
And to silence it,
Before the authority arrives,
To beat us calm,

But your mouth is the only utensil lying in the kitchen drawer,
Harder than your fists,
And it can travel for miles on baited breath mouthed mounted,
Bounding on passers by,
And street lamps,
Or lack of knowledge
That in your shape,
You don't realise the damage you've done,
Not to property, cars or windows,
But to the week after next,
When you recover your tracks and your health,
And the train keeps rolling down over preceding ground,

You have a waking interlude that lasts all night,
And open the 2nd drawer down,
Find your hirsute feet and vein clotted hands,
In a sealed bag so they don't go off,
Screw them in and try to continue the days end,
It's been months since she left you,
And you're still in pieces.

© Copyright 2006 Leigh Cole

Also published by Atantlean Publishing, Summer 2006

www.RedVenice.co.uk