Wine, Women and Spirit

Don’t know where I should be,

Let alone why,

Have yet to learn

To reach for the sky.

Can see what is happening,

Hear what is said,

But what’s the point

If already dead?

For half of a year

I lay on the wire,

No ceremonial;

Just guns’ thunderous choir.

Then all of a sudden

The line took a trip,

And freed at last

From my prison’s barbed grip.

Then down in the earth

They placed my remains,

And spades of dirt

Eased away my pains.

But as last sod was thrown,

God only knows why,

I rose from that place,

Where content to lie.

I know I’m still dead,

Dead for all time;

No earthly life

Will now be mine.

But why this old house,

Where I took my last drink,

And first and last fun

With ladies in pink?

God knows I tried hard

To appear in their midst,

Now they come and go

Knowing I exist.

Still happy to drink,

To gamble, sometimes to maul,

And to pay mamzells

For giving their all.

Don’t get me wrong,

I don’t complain,

I’ve learnt from this;

It’s well worth the pain.

Had trouble at first

Understanding my plight,

But now I’m just glad

To be bumps in the night.

Once I was scared

To look at the living,

Constantly stressed,

So full of misgiving.

But after a while

My fear blew away;

Worse places to haunt

Than an Old French Estaminet.

© John Sales 2009