The Drinker By Dennis Moriarty

The nigh is a rider less horse on velvet

hooves passing by this house,

back and forth along a street dusty

and dry as a river

stricken by drought, hard cracked

pavements, a bed

of drowned reflections, the bare bones

of the past exposed.

I drink, drain the glass, fill it again,

wait, listen to the darkness

talking in whispers about me not

with me.

Looking out, the street lamps are empty,

light sucked from their core,

a gantry of fly blown sockets and hollow

cheeks in empty skulls.

I settle deeper into a book, folding my

body between pages,

I drink, drain the glass, refill it again,

look up and see

the rider less night rearing up in the window,

nostrils flaring, eyes blazing

with the light of a distant planet,

the town hall clock chimes 1 am, I drain

the glass and an hour,

a day, a week later I slip into the shallow

sleep of addicts and demons,

dreaming of my father as a poet reciting

the rosary to an audience of one.

Dennis Moriarty was born in London, England and now lives in Wales. Married with five grown up offspring Dennis likes walking the dog in the mountains, reading and writing.

In 2017 he won the Blackwater poetry competition and went to county Cork in Ireland to read his work at the international poetry festival. Dennis has had poems featured in many publications including Blue nib, Our poetry archive, Setu bilingual, The passage between and others.