failure’s art

he’s in before noon 

and it’s never for coffee 

moans that it’s triple the price of the offy 

drinking for company 

a failure’s own art

pint number five

is only the start 

moving on lonesome 

same as the last place 

they all know his name 

and his crimson red nosed face

she grimaces every time 

he says her name 

and can’t stand his stories 

they’re always the same 

he’s swally from the alley 

rat arsed for short

they’ll send him packing 

without a minutes thought

whiskey whiskey malt of the week

don’t hold back on the measure

abstinence is only for philistines

drinking is my only pleasure

today is no different 

the jokes are all on him 

they refuse his next one

for his lights were dim

soldiering on he grabs a bottle 

on the slippery way home 

pops the cork open 

he drinks all alone

sits in his own piss

bladders not what it was

this is your life

just because 

drink to your health

he says forget it

that’s life on the dole

good work if you can get it