Sock Free Hideaway

BEATS OF LOVE 

145. Ode to Beer by Me 

Little folk came to stay, sex toys, explosions along the way, 

Rallying round, sipping tea and drinking beer

but us you could barely hear

Warning sign number one was full on

Distracted when thudding onto the living room floor. 

Or did you mistake the armchair for a door?

Confidence lost with remote still in your shaky hand 

Soldiering on, as these little folk got easier to understand

Warning sign number two was a right to do

Putting the gas on, the new pedal to the metal

It no longer smelt, thus

Melting your plastic electric kettle

Still, we poured a beer

and hid the hobs

There was no warning sign number three, just an almighty crash

Mistaking the massive rubber plant for something else

Something that could hold your weight

Spooning down hospital food, things quickly disappeared

First the home that you haven't really lived in for months, anyway

Then, hoping to escape the bed,

your strong legs, purposefully pressing against my hand,

Whilst being told they're as much use to you as sand

Killed said hope dead

Then the one-to-one care that's barely there

 A youthful social worker now dreads our calls

almost as much as the tired hospital staff, 

when asked to get another round of beers in

dread yours

Ironic, though in no way meant

we've only gone and quit the beer this Lent