Happy Hour by Sherri Turner

This ledge is very narrow
once you get up here and see.
I hadn’t realised how small
the folks below would be.
I’m trying not to wobble
and I feel a little sick.
The evening dampness on the tiles
is making them quite slick.
It must have been the Happy Hour
that caused my over-drinking
and made me climb here for a bet.
What can I have been thinking?
I wish I’d been more sensible
and hadn’t drunk at all.
My sense of balance isn’t great,
I think I’m going to…

Sherri Turner lives in Surrey. She has had numerous short stories published in women’s magazines and has won prizes for both poetry and short stories. She likes to write silly poems when she feels in danger of forgetting that this is supposed to be fun.



The Parting of Ed the Sot by Ron Runeborg

There he lay, the gnarly rascal, on his darlin’s kitchen table
Himself had not looked better since the dawning of his years
But we owed him one more gadabout, to liven up his fable
so we begged his little missus, and she smiled behind her tears

It was off to Hooley’s pub we drove, for more’n a pint of Guinness
Himself was just a wee bit meek as toasts were gaily sung
we coaxed a round of fiddle from the local violinists
and we danced with Ed until old Harris nearly lost a lung.

He wasn’t hard to load again, we seemed a nod more sprightly
as we toddled off to Finnigan’s, three drunks, one surely not
‘twas another cheer and three pence for the man who shown so brightly
O’er the Kelly green of county Down, our brother, Ed the Sot

Well we partied through the evenin’ with our Eddie boy beside us
tellin’ tales of Eddie’s prowess, of his loin’s vitality
Yes we found our way to seven pubs, ‘for coppers would deride us
and remind our little party to respect mortality.

After dawn on that drab Thursday, Ed had heard enough of laughter
it was time he and his widow would be sayin’ their goodbyes
We had said as much ourselves the night before the morning after
so we spent that hour gently, while our Eddie closed his eyes.

Ron Runeborg lives with his wife Linda and Montague Pierre the dog in Lakeville Minnesota. He writes poetry and short stories and currently has two books available.