The Drunk

The Drunk
 
The Drunk meanders his way home
His stooped, swaying gait
Mostly hidden by the
Darkness of the night
But then, he is suddenly thrown
Into sharp relief
By passing headlights
And the neon pool of a street lamp
Scornfully watching his slow progress –

Three steps forward
Sway, one step sideways
When he finds himself
In the middle of the road, puzzled
Headlights and horns
Blaring like an angry Mardis Gras
He stands stock-still
Frozen in that moment

Then self-preservation kicks in
As he staggers head first
Like a dragged mountain goat on a tether
Makes the pavement and staggers on
Into the privets of a garden
He tries to straighten himself up
And on erratic tiptoes
Drunkenly pirouetting
Towards his home

Finally arrives, leaning against
The portal for support
And after much fumbling in his
Worse for wear trousers
He extracts his door keys
Locating the lock
By the use of ‘door brail’

He tries doggedly to
Get the key in the lock
Remembering himself as a
Child playing at ‘Fighter Pilot’
Trying to get the jet into the hanger
‘Meeeeoooowww!!’
He says to himself
But misses again.

Suddenly, the door opens
And with his wooden support gone
He falls on to the carpeted hallway floor
His wife in nightie and slippers
Stands over him, expression of resignation on her face
‘Oh God kill me now’ he thinks

She calmly closes the door
Puts him in the ‘recovery position’
Throws a blanket over him
And goes to bed, mumbling
About how her mother was right
‘Exhausted’ after his efforts of the evening
And knowing he is not welcome
In the marital bed tonight
He falls asleep right there
Soundly snoring

His body surrounded by a fug –
A mixture of alcohol, sweat and urine
Happy as a pig in slop
Tomorrow’s hangover and
The strange scratches on his arms
(He won’t remember getting from the privets)
And the withering looks from his wife
A problem for the future

He is in the arms of Morpheus
And wrapped in alcohol induced optimism

© Kate McClelland 2016

Photo Pixabay