So many nights out to choose from, it’s hard
But out there’s destiny, in here is death
So many free nights, too; no credit card
Needed, nor much to be drawn out, unless
You want to drink yourself silly, a mess
Of a person and of a bank account.
Okay, it’s cheaper still to stay in, yes
But then new excitement will never mount,
Old memories will fade and you will count
For nothing; effectively you’re self-barred
Like in the late nineties, or when enmeshed
In marriage with a child, later. I can’t
Face poetry night tonight, though; it’s marred
By the odd face I would rather forget
No comments:
Post a Comment