Outside lying on his back
In a pool of his own ****
Up to his shoulder blades,
His whiskers slobbering spit,
***** pooling in his lap,
Leather stomacher exposed,
His belly spilling out a gap.
Rolling side to side,
Flailing hog stuck in muddy sty,
Cursing desperately for help,
Screaming to anyone, to God,
Up in a wheeling, blurry sky.
Too much to drink that day,
Too much for 40 years,
Too much whiskey every day
Led to his *****-filled fears...
Stumbled him; tumbled him away.
We boys had headed to the bar
For burgers before a game;
Saw Charlie rolling on his back,
Fighting no one in the street,
Bare ****** in his drunken sinning,
Terrified and terrorized,
Moaning and bawling and spinning
Under a sunny, small-town sky.
When Brian tried to get him up,
Old Charlie's cursing grew,
And Brian backed up laughing,
Not knowing what to do.
I stood a ways away,
Hadn't seen a thing like this before,
Until a couple men came out
And dragged old Charlie in a door.
Forty years have gone, I guess,
And Charlie's been gone twenty,
But when I stop to think of him,
I ask myself if I've had plenty,
And tell the waiter, "Two is fine;
I'm done tonight, I guess."
And pay my check while I can see
To leave a little for the rest.
I am offended by my own writing here, but it's a story that keeps coming up, and one that I want to preserve. Things I have seen with my own eyes....