ZW12 Commended – B. Mercieca

The Daylight Dilemma

Bradley Mercieca

The kitchen carpet is damp with European beer.
Shattered glass jitterbugs on a pulsating speaker.
Several sinners remain in my church for delinquents,
where the wine is consumed in excess
and the hymns cause partial deafness.

A dismal form rests in the driveway,
sprouting stubble that could sand down timber.
Neighbours watch him from their porch,
hurling a series of tuts that echo through the street.

I was the host of their despair.
I hung the streamers that wrapped around their throats.
I sliced into the cake they choked on.

Our lips were pressed into bottles like a kiss;
infatuated with the liquid inside.
Every shot became a pebble in the pond,
sending tidal waves across the once still water.

One guest sleeps in the study on a bed marked with vomit.
His potential switched to dormant and bordering on extinct.
He hopes that inactivity will breed success.

Three-way kisses, stolen heels and a dry hump.
We tried to go to heaven but we went the other way,
down, down, down; passed out on the grass and in the garden.
Last night the devil wasn’t on our shoulder it was in our brain.
A cigarette packet still bulges from my pocket.
For a night the instrument of relief became my companion,
resting neatly between my lips.

False pledges are made to never drink again,
we are without our wits and in need of hydration.
During the week we are injected with particles of boredom
and the chemicals from the weekend flush them out.
Like a magic trick we make our worries disappear.


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