The sleepwalker. Poetry from the pen of ~The Poet’s Poet~

She was well used to his antics

Paying scant attention once they were on home turf

He could negotiate stairs-wells with ease

Go from room to room naked as a jay bird

Never even stub a toe.

They were party animals as were their friends

Occasionally they would have themed nights 

It was their turn this particular weekend

The partying went on until the early hours of the morning.

Once it finally wound down

She went unconscious once her head hit the pillow.

On waking next morning he was missing from her bed 

She found him stretched out on the couch downstairs wrapped in a bathrobe 

She did not possess a pink bathrobe.

Peeling it off him as quick as you would peel a banana 

Shock horror he was wearing a G-string 

The party was now turning into a nightmare.

He couldn’t explain this away with the excuse it must have been the sleepwalking 

Then from the lounge area emerged the owner of the bathrobe

Dressed in a fancy dress chicken outfit.

©Chris Black. May 9th 2019

#Poetry #amwriting