There was a night, long ago

There was a night, long ago

When he drank whisky from the bottle

Until his eyes were red

Although justified in terms of sadness

It was a kind of madness

How quickly could he forget

The pain of being sober

He spoke on the telephone

To someone who mattered

Speaking in what was later called

A very convincing Northern Irish accent

For no good reason

Unless feeling angry

Brought Ian Paisley to mind

He tried to drink the whole bottle

In double time

`Thought he had the legs

But they gave out

With two fingers left

Falling asleep on the floor

At the bottom of the stairs

He forget what happened

To lower his defences

Sadness is a cruel beast

Perhaps it was the same night

Walking in the street

Late at night in Hackney

The shop fronts flickering

In the rain

A hole in his trousers

From where he stumbled

On the pavement

It was uneven and had nothing to do

With his inebriation

At least that was his understanding

Not that he had much

Barely had the image registered

But there was a rescue from a friend

With a warm car

Sweet breath and a soft voice

Why are people so kind

When you want them to shout.

“Shake me out”

Is a phrase he remembered

Misquoted from Bleak House

When it was possible to sit on the couch

In the shelter of his lover's arms

With one drink lasting all night

“How many chances are there

To mess up

When will friends stop calling

If I am always incoherent”

Although there was a kind of beauty in

Waking up at the bottom of the stairs

With a cushion beneath his head

How did it get there

When he thought he was alone

Perhaps it was a last sensible act

Before unconsciousness descended

Days become nights

Memories melt one into another

Who knows when any one thing occurred

But getting caught up in a demonstration

Being swept along on a tide of other peoples

Emotion

Singing “we shall overcome someday”

Dancing down Shoreditch High Street

In support of the anti-Nazi league

Ten abreast arms linked

To ward off the horses

Drinking cheap wine with homeless people

Giving it all away

In a brawl with bobbies out of

Stoke Newington police station

Different reasons for drinking

Never one for thinking

It would not be a good idea

Until the after party

Which as an ending

Is at worst, inglorious

At best, a victory celebration

In a holding cell