We chat in measured-out mumbles
In our twos and in our threes
Balancing thin cups in their saucers
Sure it was a hard
way to go, and everybody knows it
Very hard on his
family is what we’re all thinking
But no-one talks about the real problem
No-one mentions George and his drinking
Everyone thinks about the good times
He was a good sort,
and great company
With a quick joke on his lips, or telling a tall tale
Holding court in his favourite corner
Lewd laughter, green eyes twinkling
Ever-ready for another, if we’d set them up,
Another long night of George and his drinking
No mention of the damage he was doing
Destroying his guts from the inside
His liver wet-rotting, blood-pressure bubbling
His florid face and trembling hands
Everyone here knew that he was sinking
But he took a long time
over his dying
And that’s what George got for his drinking
Where were these old drinking companions
When he began to lose his way
Down and damaged, calling the odds
Worse for wear, falling down drunk
In his cups first thing in the morning
Unsavoury, unwashed and stinking
Unable to get served anywhere?
We dare not join in with George
and his drinking
A murmur goes round the black-coated room
This tea and
coffee’s meagre stuff for mourning
There’s a move to push off down the pub
Trying not to cause any offence
It’s what he
would’ve wanted, did someone say?
A sliding off for something much stronger
Yes, we’ll all have a drink for George today
Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2012
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