Twenty Bensons and some Stella Artois,
Lilac dressing gown, un-brushed hair,
Dragging on a cigarette for a nicotine fix,
Amused by television’s daytime drivel,
Her day aimless, wasted by 3pm,
Time for another tin before her boy comes in,
Where has he been, she cares not,
“Did you have a good day at school?”
“Yes Mum, what’s for tea?”
She hauls herself from the armchair,
Feeds her boy a meal, processed,
And convenient, from the freezer,
Avoiding empty cans, overflowing ashtrays,
Back to the chair she staggers,
To watch the Weakest Link,
Telephone rings, and rings again,
It’ll be the catalogue people, she knows it will,
She hadn’t paid her bill, no money,
The benefit she got on Monday, gone
Bought herself a treat, a bottle of Smirnoff Vodka,
She loved to drink it neat,
Slipping unconscious, tips her glass,
Adding to the already stained carpet,
She wakes another day, for more of the same,
Man in the corner shop serves her “the usual”,
Twenty Bensons and some Stella Artois