with a bottle in hand to keep company;
A lone-walker he was on this night,
his bloodshot eyes could hardly see.
As he swayed unimpeded he made jokes
to which he blurted streams of laughter
which was drowned as he gulped again
the bitter sweet liquor – the sworn killer.
Nature began calling on a secured line,
desperate and aggressive was the push
that he took the call swiftly and unsubtly
then the message was passed in a rush.
It lasted a few minutes then came an end
but he slouched there, looking up
smiling at airy nothing, feeling relieved
and then, he made moves to hang up.
He resumed the route that led home
of course, sipping the killer as he trudged.
Darkness thickened, an owl began to hoot
trees swayed overhead, the end surged.
His fuzzy vision expunged the huge stone ahead
the bottle kept him occupied all the way
suddenly there was a hit, a fall, a gash
both liquids trickled as he passed away.
Written by: Jude Uchella
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
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I am a member of the WRR editorial team.