Vino Nites
Me and me bezzie buddy.
Mondays? Fabulous!
They can’t come round quick enough
My turn in the chair.
A box of fourteen percent –
Plenty to last the evening.
Les had her cushion
I had mine – with one between
Never used. A plumped
Cordon sanitaire for two
Pillars of morality.
Solicitously,
She served up olives and dips –
Sun-blushed tomatoes.
“Can’t drink on empty stomachs,”
I never understood why.
She left hurriedly
Without a last cheerio
I waved goodbye at
A head that did not turn round,
Mouthing, “See you next week then?”
I went next Monday.
Time for vino, olives, laughs
I opened the door.
No, “Who you shagging, my love?”
“…A gentleman never tells!”
Instead, nothing, an
Echoing, deep well, silent
Broken-tooth jagged
Awful sour unsought truth
Banjaxed my sobriety.
No more Mondays then,
No more bawdy laughs acting
Sober when her sons
Scoffed at our oldies’ antics
“Time you gits grew up,” they sniffed.
Keeping the peace, we,
Giggling gits, agreed. “More wine?”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
“How will you make it back home?”
(Dead bottles littered her room)
“No worries, Sweet, the
Corners are the tricky bits,
I ride better drunk.”
“Text me when you’re back home safe.”
“Okie dokie, you softie.”
No more ice pan skids
On winter potholed pathways
No more Monday wine
The woven wicker casket
Suited her – Les went in style.
I do like a good banjaxing,, me. I like it – in vino, veritarse!
Thanks, Mitch, have one for me 🙂