Pride before the cigarette fall

Photo by Vidar Nordli-Mathisen on Unsplash

Feeling pleased, congratulating myself
is always followed by a stumble
as I lose control of the ski’s falling headlong
over the cliff edge crashing into the ski lodge bar; luckily.

“One bourbon, one scotch, one beer”.* And some cigarettes.

Some twisted trickery in my brain
just loves pulling me out of smugness
pushing me into addiction once more
coming around the following day to give myself
a jolly good kick in.

I blame the alcohol, I always blame the alcohol
followed by a quick retreat, what, do I not go out?
Knowing every time control is lost over the amount of booze
poured down my neck because, well, love is blind!

Incapable of pulling back after eight bottles
forming a brilliant idea I will be fine as no cigarette
has touched these lips in a week,
my asthmatic lungs unable to send any kind
of message up to a desensitised brain
this being an awful idea!

This merry go round I keep insisting
on riding surely must have a breaker
so the power can be pulled?
After thirty-five years the handle must be
all rusted and can not be moved for want of trying.

*George Thorogood. One bourbon, one scotch, one beer

Thank you as always, Arundhati Thakur for giving my words a platform. 🙏✨ Thank you all for reading and your precious time. Always. J. 🙏✨



Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store
James G Brennan

Writes free to read eclectic free verse poetry. "Everything in life is writable about" Sylvia Plath.