An Addict's Christmas

[Gerry]

Huddled in an arch stood a group of sorry individuals dressed in layer upon layer of Salvation Army handouts to shelter them from the winter’s worst.

For them no warm home fire, or comfy chair.
No snooze after a filling dinner or a chat with their child.
No cuddle with the woman they promised to love for life.

They may have stood in a crowd but each was alone.

Lonely in a crowded room as he thought of what they had and lost.
The love of a good woman.
The love and respect of their children.
The love of family friends worn down by their lies and deceit.

For he had his first love in his hand and that was all that mattered to him.
The tears shed as he sank deeper and deeper into her clutches were in vain.
The pleas to seek help had been spoken to ears that did not want to hear.
The things stolen from loved ones to feed his mistress.
The food made by love scorned in favour of another easy hit.

My Mam would say he was just fond of the bottle.

But fondness was not the word I use for any man gripped by whatever addiction tears him from his family and breaks so many hearts.

By Gerry Temple