Staggering slowly,
Bottle in hand,
Pub sleeper he is,
Singing unharmonious rhymes,
Barking like the village dogs,
Empty bottle…you wonder how fast,
Car brakes-
Death grinning at him,
Unprintable insults hurled at the driver,
He staggers-
All drenched and stenched.
Father of six,
Husband of one,
School fess kitty mocks him,
His wife now the breadwinner,
He staggers again,
Heavy debts overpowering him,
Stumbles and falls,
Sewage breathe…
You do not pity him,
May be the family mostly.
He smiles,
Several teeth missing,
Others tainted brown,
He laughs-
Red chirped lips,
Burnt by Mama Pima’s cheap liquor,
He sings merrily,
He is a cat,
Seven lives less.
Another screech,
A motorbike this time,
The two exchange words,
The biker goes ego scratched,
He smiles,
Spits on the ground,
Takes a gulp from the brown bottle,
Wipes his mouth and staggers across the road.
He goes unnoticed,
We used to that figure,
Gate crashing all events,
Acting insane yet sane,
He staggers along the dingy road,
Leading to his shanty,
Singing aloud and stupidly.
Muggers go past him,
Penniless bastard they say,
He grins at them,
Threatening-
A dog that barks yet has no teeth to bite!
They mock him,
He stumbles,
Falls in a trench and cracks his skull,
Nobody notices.
We used to seeing him in the trench,
A rock his pillow and sand his bed,
But this time it was different,
Bottle in hand cracked,
Flies hovering and fighting,
Smelly old man, they buzz,
Police truck parked beside,
Black plastic bag ready to pack him in,
A new delivery to the morgue.
