Derek’s Dinner with Dad

I stumble out of the pub - trying to hail a cab on a foggy as soup night

A heavy blanket of alcohol- soothes the ceaseless, monkey chatter in my brain

“Blarghhhh” my stomach lurches, my internal compass gyrates – the streetscape spins like a top– my face goes white

Feet and legs twirl like spaghetti, rendering me lame to

Land on the pavement, next to a piece of thrown away bread, now slickly spiderweb spun, in greeny, gray mould

Just an awkward pile of limbs, reeking of scotch, nose to nose with trash, feeling sick to my stomach - looking rumpled and soiled

My angel reaches down to help me up – her long hair, brushing my face - smelling of vanilla and musk

“Oh Derek, why must you always drink – way, way, too much whenever, you see him!” She stretches out her hand.

An epiphany, flash-strikes through my drunken befuddle, and I know, just, how truly, lucky I am!