My Mate Nicky

Nicky New Zealand 1999

 

His hands shook

His face contorted 

He fought with 

His stomach

Every morning

Palsy’d whiskey

Into his coffee

At breakfast

Thought no one

Noticed

As his new day 

Was inhaled past

His vomit rotted

Teeth.

 

His breath stunk

His skin was

pallid

He hadn’t washed

His eyes 

Were like

Dark

Stained glass

Portholes 

As he peered 

Out his blurry

Life at the

World.

Through the

Dregs in 

A thousand 

Glasses.

 

3rd Engineer

Nicky.

From Tauranga 

New Zealand

My friend

Old friend

I covered for you 

when you couldn’t

Arrive on the 

World

I laughed at your

Drunken antics

I carried you

Home

Up the gangway

 

I put you to bed

With a bottle

In your bunk

For the shaky

Hours.

Hid your lighter

So we wouldn’t

Burn to death

I held you

When you cried

As reality 

Appeared

Lost women

Lost dignity

Lost health

Lost life

 

When you died

Liverless

I cried

For myself

For every rotten

Bottle

I’d shared

With you. 

Every time I’d sat 

Across a bar

and heard you say

“Tomorrow

I’m gonna stop”.

◄ In his image.

New York New York Bronx. ►

Comments

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M.C. Newberry

Tue 24th Mar 2020 16:11

I knew someone in a slightly lower league of alcoholic slavery and
certainly identify with the lines "carried you home". How many times!
Friendship is occasionally a one-way street when a friend is seldom
able to navigate the way home under his own steam.

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Vautaw

Sun 22nd Mar 2020 00:47

Powerful, heartbreaking poem Phil. 🖤

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