Young, Drunk, Fearless Poem by Arthur H Rowley

If I can talk kindly of myself only when I am drunk
then I will take what I can get
the problem is
that drinking alone is the safest and sanest I've ever felt
I hope that in sobriety I will honour these words
and contest them in equal measure

I am sat on a wet bench
too blurred for the time my phone swears it to be
on the field below the rugby club have met
the floodlights are blinding and dissimilar to what I'm used to

most of what the men are shouting is just ‘yes'
I like to think they are so full of love and pride for each other
that they cannot help but raise their voices in elation
there is one I can hear above the rest
the coach, I assume,
a man warmed by superiority
what would these men think of me should they walk up the hill
a young drunk
a waster

to walk home drunk at this time is fine when you're 18
for now I am social
I am a good friend
I am happier than I can remember being
if I am to walk home alone and in this state
in twenty years
what shall I be then?
troubled and lonely perhaps?
what's the difference?

I am vapid and unconcerned with my surroundings
I think if anyone approached me I could converse with them
I worry if this is how it is to be normal
a violent word, I know,
but here, drunk and cold,
the night has never felt more authentically mine

ah, no, there it is
the pain of course
it finds me even here.