Oh, but how do drunk people get home?
I wonder
But…
How do drunk people get home?
My careening well…
Scars and scurf
And a long whole ago
….that pill in the morning in the clinic
that pill…
Hmm…
But how do drunk people get home?
I met the man with the box of frogs and had occasion to ask him
Feeling that the rain would stay off a while
as I sheltered under his hanging umbrella
He was too busy to answer
Much too busy,
The boxing of frogs and the herding of cats
Taking up
Way way too much of his time!
But it’d come to a pretty pass
If the only weavers of dreams left to us
Were to be the joke of the bank
(Their jokes are cruel)
And the many sellers of smoke
They there
Still there
There in the glam of the threadbare glade.
How Do Drunk People Get Home? – By Paul Holland
September 11, 2014 by gingerfightback
Posted in Art, Canada, Funny, Poetry, poetry, france, burkha, Stories, Writing | Tagged "Poetry",, Being Drunk, Cats, Drunk, Espana, Frogs, Going home Drunk, Hangovers, Herding Cats, How Do Drunks Get Home?, Ireland, Le Rioja, Poems, Poems About Drink, Spain, Words | 9 Comments
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Perfect story of heading home only to be delayed by all the lovely visions. Yes, bank jokes are cruel.
If you etched this in stone, anthropologists would be scratching their heads for millennia about what meaningful message this poem was trying to convey.
On the bus you Fool 😉 – http://2e0mca.wordpress.com/2011/08/26/commute-recall-3/
The way people drive, I often wonder how do the sober people get home
Gingerly
Paul has definitely given us something to ponder. Although, I have to admit, I thought it was something inbred in the Brits DNA to always find their way home while drunk.
At last somethng we can be proud of Michelle!
Awesome last line.
Cobblestones are hazardous.
Paul does it again. Very nice.