Staggering home after,

A night of whiskey and laughter,

In a constant state of falling,

Each recovery sending him perilously,

Into fall the other way,

The late-night home-goer valiantly,

Fights his battle with drink and ice.


For a glorious moment he transcends,

His task.  The freezing air,

Makes the moon his glitterball,

Streetlamps’ sodium glow gives,

Him spotlight. He transforms,

To a figure skater.


His struggle to stay,

Upright takes on fragile beauty,

The last throes of a moth,

Caught in gossamer.

His doomed trail becomes,

Majestic ballet which transfixes,


All the more for,

The knowledge that it cannot last.

As whisky and gravity conspire to,

Snuff out this street-lit dancer,

The next hill, the next curb could,

Be the last but,


While it lasts,

His tragic fandango transcends farce,

Makes the world hold its icy breath,

Draws applause from the empty, frozen street.


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