They Find Comfort

They find comfort

In each other’s comfort

Forced love for the convenience

He lies slumped over her knee

A drunken stupor

Arm over face

Arse over tit

She force feeds him crackers

While swigging on her

‘White Ace’ cider

Costs just £2.95

On-lookers gaze with contempt

In their hearts

Down on their luck

They drink in the sun

He’s had too much

And cares not

Who sees him in this inebriated state

Her economist bag hides her life

The green bottle

Like toxic waste

Holds the key to her escape

Drinking hides the pain

When the day

Is slept away

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