Parenthood- By Sully

I stumble into my bedroom,

not sure if I’m a gymnast

or the house is flipping.

I hold my last lager.

The chair falls onto me,

my arse will ache tomorrow,

my brain will think it has an arse –

one being fucked anyway.

For now I feel giddy.

On the windowsill sits my little cactus,

dried like a prune since I last watered him.

Cacty looks all cosy in a yellow felt sleeve

around the pot.

I know Cacty’s thirsty

yet I have no water to hand.

Then I look at my lager.

Maybe today is the day to be better;

no more drinking – I would be good –

look after my possessions,

feed Cacty to grow big and strong

so he can be

just like his

loving father.

I tip my Hobgoblin on his head.

I watch the golden liquid trickle down.

Then fall onto bed and pass out.