He was only happy when knocking back the beers at the bar,
His raucous laughter would peal though the open windows of the snug in the pub,
He was everybody’s hero and everybody’s friend and everybody loved him.
Until he made it home, up the garden path
The key would turn in the lock of the old wooden door.
Behind closed doors through beer-tinted glasses he was everybody’s fiend.
His temper flared, his anger rising like bile from below his belt
Buckle undone he would wield his weapon and exert his ire
Until the sun rose and the dulcet tones of the dawn chorus could be heard.
© Alison Jean Hankinson.
Meeting at the bar tonight for d’Verse and we were asked to explore the demon drink. This is my offering.
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Hues of Hankinson 
Powerful and disturbing poem. I knew so many of ‘them’
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Alas a very common effect of alcohol…
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I am fairly sure our northern pubs were/ and possibly are still riddled with them.
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Yep, the title says it all.
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Sadly, often the end of an evening of drunkenness.
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Turning friend into fiend was really clever. I’m impressed.
I LOVE the ending:
“Buckle undone he would wield his weapon and exert his ire
Until the sun rose and the dulcet tones of the dawn chorus could be heard.”
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Sad tale how someone can change so quickly.
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There’s nothing worse than this terrible side effect of drinking. No doubt a tale told by many.
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