A Million Questions Unanswered
It's just another typical night out with the lads
the beers are flowing
and shots are being downed
while shamelessly flirting with a hen party
enjoying a night on the town.
See that fella over there?
Aye that's the one
life and soul of the party
filling the air with banter and bravado
a proper mans man
tough as old boots he is.
Captain of his local rugby team
he's got hands like shovels
all the lads respect him
and the ladies?
Well they love him.
I bet he could landscape a garden in a day
ripping up trees with his bare hands
if they dared to stand in his way
look at him showing off his prowess on the pool table
his smile lights up the place
a face that stands out from the crowd
self-confident, he's a legend of the baize.
Everything is good in the world
a picture postcard of a pissed up party.
Later that night in the taxi ride home
he sits in silence
he'd played a blinder
avoiding rear view mirror glances from the driver.
He sighs loudly unprovoked
staring blankly into the distance
as he curses to himself
through gritted teeth.
Back home and he's standing in the kitchen
inner voice unflinching
he can feel himself sinking
he wishes he could talk to someone
but instinct kicks in
and he carries on drinking.
At 10am his pals arrive to pick him
like every Sunday, ready to head to the match
the challenge of playing with a hangover got tougher as they aged
but they always battled through
the way real men are born and raised
and always told they have to do.
His coat was on the front lawn
the door slightly ajar,
keys still in the lock.
His pals laughed and agreed
last nights session was one of the best they'd had in years.
They walked in to greet him
and found him sitting on the sofa with his head back
an empty bottle of whisky in his hand
tablets scattered by his feet.
A million questions