The Bench By The River

It’s six thirty on Sunday morning
and I’ve been here since three.
I don’t sleep much now-a-days,
but that don’t bother me.

The flies are here as usual
taking salt from my skin
whilst I’m having breakfast
of blood red wine and gin.

I remember when I was married
I had food three times a day.
Now, I eat when I’m hungry,
but not much comes my way.

I live in a one room bed sit,
which is big enough for me.
I don’t give parties anymore,
besides I’ve got no settee.

Two chairs, and one’s my table,
a sleeping bag on the floor.
A cup, a glass and a tooth brush,
don’t need anything more.

Another bottle is approaching
along with friends of mine.
We’ll continue having breakfast,
at least until lunch time.

poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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