On the Bevy

We all like a bevy
But nothing too heavy
Though some folk will take it too far
For we’ve all seen the sight
At the end of the night
Of someone being thrown from the bar

 He just cannot stop
And then he takes a pop
When security tells him to go
He lashes with fists
For he’s totally pissed
And everyone out there’s his foe

 So he looks for a fight
With whoever’s in sight
Doesn’t matter who with, cos he’s mad
So around town he roams
Till he’s finally home
And by then the red mist’s really bad

 So he climbs up the stairs
To the bedroom that’s theirs
And he hauls her up out of the bed
As he blackens her eye
She thinks this time she’ll die
And he kicks her once more in the head

 In the corner she cowers
As above her he towers
And he reaches his hands out to throttle
But this time she’s ready
Her hands are quite steady
As she whacks his head, once, with a bottle

 Then he widens his eyes
With a look of surprise
For not once has she done this before
He falls down to the ground
Doesn’t utter a sound
As he lands on his back on the floor

In the morning he wakes
And his whole body shakes
As he searches the house for his wife
But she’s taken her stuff
Because she’s had enough
Of fearing that he’ll take her life

 Late that night in the bar
Once more he goes too far
And they throw him out into the night
As he lies in the gutter
It’s his wife’s name he mutters
As he finally gives up the fight

© Sandra Proctor 2015