Ian Copestick

Done For The Night

My new boots
are starting to
let in water. I
can feel my
socks squelch,
as I walk to the
off-license, and
back. On the way
back I’m emptying
cans as quick as
I can. I stop, pause
to roll a cigarette.
The motherfucking
rain soaks through
the paper before
I can even put
in the tobacco.
Like a contortionist,
I try to shelter
myself, under my
coat. It isn’t easy,
but I manage to
roll one, light it.
Crack open one
more can, I’ll save
the rest until I
get in. Turn on
the T.V., then I
usually turn it
off in disgust.
Pick out a CD,
and a book.
Roll another
cigarette, open
another beer, then
that’s me. I’m
done for the
night

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