The wind blew across the mouth piece of
His mobile and scattered his words down the street.
What was left of his voice shrank further away and
Found him drowning in a public house’s froth.
After a while he sounded brighter, saying the sun
Had come out to energize what must be a solar phone;
Pity the shit he had to say was hardly worth the
Call anyway, but then again my pithy bits have no
Prose and I do hope his Irish alcoholic leg improves,
And my back doesn’t deteriorate any further than
Bed rest, though I guess the only thing to assist either
Would be a four day drink free session, but whether
That would be worth it pains more to ponder than
The actualities of random afflictions.