This is the eleventh of my NaPo poem and probably my second favourite though I only wrote fifteen (fail!). I'm rather fond of the first stanza but feel free to rip wherever you feel it's needed.
#11 Amber Riches
Once or twice perhaps but not as often
as it seemed and he didn't break
the skin or strike too hard.
It was the drink, not him;
his partiality to believe
that gin could pay his bills and pave his way
in amber rubble of the mind.
It might have been three or four
but never more than ten,
not in one night
and he was the penitent sort,
never short of a sorry in the morning
or lacking in an amber prayer:
he thought they helped.
Oh he was a dear heart really,
always spared the time to make promises
of the moon and wrap my hands with
skeins of gold and silver
so I didn't tire in my work,
not with his miner's strength.
It was the drink that parted out our ways
like farmers marking crops up for the market
and I only ask that it be not him
who is condemned in your courts of law,
let it be as if in life that I
may not speak against him so that my body say
no, it were not my husband
but the drink.
)
mwahahaha
