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Sober Saturday Night

Another sober Saturday night, staring at the boob tube
Wondering where my sense of fun has gone.
Yearning for a sweet perfume ... that heady bar room smell
Of stale beer and cigarettes and a stranger's aftershave.

Mutated sounds of country songs registering in the senses
Of shit-faced barfly hopefuls, all trawling for easy lays.
A crash, silver laced, barely penetrates the fug
As stumbling, in largo time, we weave towards the door.

Ice-edged teeth bite sharply as we hail a cruising cab.
Our bodies stuck like superglue, wandering, knowing hands
Seeking intimate secrets, hidden from unimpaired perceptions
By obstacles insurmountable to alcohol-fuelled lust.

Mumbled grunts and smothered moans are communication tools
Which instruct the legless senses where to go and what to do
Impaled now, raucous breathing rasping harshly in the dark.
Plastered up against the wall ... another trophy of the night.

With the sun's rays, reality dawns.  Jackhammers start
Their incessant pounding as I grope my way through the murk
To surface, stunned and wondrous, beside some neanderthal
Lecherous ape lord, snoring loudly as he sleeps.

"Oh fuck," groaned with deep dismay as realisation hits home
With a head-splitting crash, the sheets are thrown aside
A fugitive from the blinding spotlight of reality,
I slip back to my sober Saturday night ... and dream again.

A contest entry

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Comments


  • arafura gold member
    February 15, 2008

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    "Plastered up against the wall ... another trophy of the night..."

    This is wonderful. So full of realism and truth... I could picture a hundred pubs I've been in and a thousand scenes like these... You tell a story very well my friend!


  • Tattboyspet
    February 13, 2008

    Edit | Reply
    LMAO! I have been through this more times than I care to admit to!
    Wonderfully done - enjoyed it thoroughly!


  • Riftkin gold member
    October 12, 2007

    Edit | Reply
    "Oh fuck," groaned with deep dismay as realisation hits home
    With a head-splitting crash, the sheets are thrown aside
    A fugitive from the blinding spotlight of reality,


    this says it all.

    Riftkin


  • Danna Hobart
    September 24, 2007
    Edit | Reply
    THat was some dream. Thanks for entering.