Once upon a drunk bachelors night,
This guy decided to go down to his local drinking site,
Sitting in a sparsely filled dive of a pub,
Couples slurring, singles fingering at crap grub,
The smell of cheap beer and toilet waste emanating,
Half cleaned spew, alcohol stained carpets on floors bent,
Well-worn paths to toilets to empty body’s excrement,
Cigarette and cheap cigar smoke bellowing from drunk faces,
Filling the stained ceiling with ghostly looking traces,
Prostitutes revealing there abused tattooed torsos,
Men pretending not to mentally indulge in their shows,
In this scourge of erotic beings affecting their bulge,
Lining up to be next forcing off their wedding rings to hide,
Not that these night walkers would bother whether they lied,
Eagerly walking out after many a note spent on drinks,
Dragging their picks for the evening of chicks in false minks,
Stumbling off to revel in their spoils of the evening,
And off in their cars, to scary dark corners or lanes,
Hopeful not to go home to wives with trouser stains,
He giggles to himself as he imagines the explanations,
To their wives, why so late, with their lying creations,
On the stage he stares at a drunken dude karaoke rapping,
From behind he hears the sound of one hand clapping,
He continues to slowly sip on his 6th ice filled whiskey,
He has been there the whole evening now, driving will be risky,
Been very entertaining, better than television home alone,
Besides, what is better than watching drunkards dancing?
On a sticky make shift wood floor, each other fondling,
Dudes stumbling across the surface for the day’s special of gin,
So drunk they could win a break-dancing competition,
Nobody gives a crap of where, what happens next, is clear,
He browses the room for a possible semi sober listening ear,
There is a single woman with the same glazed stare in the corner
He ambles over and asks if he could share a table with her,
Scantily dressed in a low cut cheap floral dress revealing gun pouches,
Smiling with a *** hanging from the side of her face bought with vouches,
Visibly drunk, she says sure, with her top dentures shaking loose,
Now skunk drunk and keen, she is the best in the pub to choose,
They start gossiping about the glorious dive of a hole,
While a skank grinds up and down on the dance pole,
Wearing a mini skirt shorter than a curtain fringe,
They both start giggling at pending customers as they binge,
His lady friend reveals being newly divorced and a bit lost,
Ditto he says but he comes there to laugh at someone else’s cost,
A bit hungry now he orders the special of the day,
From an old dusty ad he can see, he might as well stay,
Sick of picking out peanuts out of a bowl/ash tray on the counter tray,
With the meal he orders a canter of the cheapest best wine,
Definitely not the best place to bring a lady to dine,
Sharing a few finger stained glasses and the basket of whatever,
He awakes the next morning not in his bed and with a hangover,
Lying on his left arm was this woman he drank beautiful, for sure,
Grossed out he thinks of chewing off his arm to not make her stir,
He somehow escaped and rushed home for a shower and a scrub,
Cut a long story short, he has given up thinking, drinking in this pub.
The end

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    1. Zeus69 Post author

      Shew quite a person to compare to, :), which part of his style are you comparing mine to? 😉
      “Charles Bukowski was a prolific underground writer who used his poetry and prose to depict the depravity of urban life and the downtrodden in American society. A cult hero, Bukowski relied on experience, emotion, and imagination in his work, using direct language and violent and sexual imagery.”
      Thank you CD for reading and always commenting, much appreciated.
      Mark (Zeus69)