His Former Self

He's indistinct these days. Vague.
Lost in his own world I'd say. Always
thinking. Thinking thinking thinking.

It used to be drinking. Drinking
drinking drinking. Life and soul
he was. Which took its toll.

I still see his shadow, the shadow
of his former self, heading
off to the pub.

Where they slap his back
and ask him how he's doing.
"Fucking great," he says

He doesn't even have to think about it.

Feelgood


Poem copyright Bernard Young 2011