Dwight, the hometown alcoholic
in the pubs he does frolic
everyday of the week
his breathe of booze it does reek
he's there morning and night
always looking for a fight
think sobriety's shite
you'll never seem him with a Sprite
an old man, his hair white
he's shrinking now, losing height
his minds far from right
he's an awful tragic sight
poor old Dwight
or as I call him.. Dad
-
Author:
Whisky Vandal (
Offline) - Published: November 23rd, 2017 15:24
- Category: Family
- Views: 55
- Users favorite of this poem: Poetic Dan
Offline)
Comments3
Rrrr Well done for braking my images with a bit of fun. Loved the rhyme in, real sailory voice in me head, even better when I made me stepdad walk the plank at the end.
Really needed that thank you
Great write, I can relate to this too, my dad is a drunk and you've just captured the man so well.....Very well written. Thanks for sharing!
I can very much related to this poem. Alcohol dependency has blighted my family. I hope you still have a relationship with your father. Take care - Syd
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.