Non fiction

The Influence

Oh wine

is fine is

a line is

mine.

There are words on your page and the cage is

unlocked because who gives a fuck when your guard

is this down?

Another glass please!

Pour it out

out the words

out the bottle

out the rhythm

out the rhyme

out the wine

 in the glass

on the table

on the page

on the line.

A sophisticated beverage to press the language to the

page: a refined sort of throat splash,

but let’s be a little brash, a bottle’s still a bottle and

the hangover is hanging over as soon as you

wake up with

makeup still

caked on your face.

Neck it back, be a lad! 

Don’t remember that one? have another - just like

that last jaffa cake you ate.

YOLO.

Yes but

YODO

like the dodo and I’d rather not today.

More? Sure!

Sloppier and sloppier but the rhyme gets that bit

choppier and you cannot stop your fingers tap tap

tying that that writing.

Maybe lecture in the morning, so I’m yawning,

perhaps my warning but the blood is pouring with

the wine and storying is better, than putting a full

stop after a

letter. Poor meta there. Couldn’t care. Yeah yeah.

Bottles empty. Still racing in my mind.

I’ll be sitting in a theatre with leary eyes and

wondering at the whens and the wheres and the

whys. Leave that bit earlier that bit sooner, change

the line, add a rhyme, neaten up my drunken mind.

Lucy Smith