He staggered <br />from the bistro <br />and at a glance <br />he looked for all the world <br />the usual sort of drunk <br />who guzzled down <br />a lot of bottled beer <br /> <br />But though his shirt <br />was crumpled <br />his tie was very straight <br />and so I wasn't sure <br /> <br />Toppling on a tightrope <br />of feigned sobriety <br />he veered down <br />where sandwiched <br />between the baits and jibes <br />this tired old goat <br />belched forth at ease <br />his malted breaths <br />dangling in the awkward air <br /> <br />Before they closed <br />in his besotted eyes <br />I thought I glimpsed <br />a tragedy <br />and <br />wondered <br />if his wife had died<br /><br />Philippa Lane<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/drunk-on-a-train/
