NEW BLOODY YEAR

When I lay down my pen
a drinking I shall go.
My beef lo mein belly
kicks and screams at the thought
of the sick red vino
sloshing down my drainpipe.

They tell me it's New Years:
The old year's moving out,
out on it's arse in the
cold. All brand new from here
like a canvas craving
your brush strokes and fill-ins.

When the ball drops: the truth.
The new year's the old year's
doppelganger. Cheap suit.
Bad breath. Black eyes. Headache.
The hangover will stay
because it never left,
only the side effects
increase because you aged.

Rolling down the hill t'wards
a brand new bloody year.
And auld lang syne's the tune
as I pass the wine round
to me and me and me.
Far from the wet-brained folk;
still pining for her call.
The new day that never
comes.

Wake me for the sunrise.