To Drink Alone

I like to drink alone.
I buy some beer, wine and whisky or vodka,
couple of good and tasty and smelly cigars,
I buy for me pack of easy British cigarettes
in the shop on the corner
just some steps from me.
lock my door, take of wet coat,
outside, where small- still busy street,
and one, ‘no- look‘, and one more here, ‘hey! ’, and there one,
people wet and angry as a homeless rats running-
looking for a bus or taxi,
trying escape from England,
where weather all the same.
wind and rain and bit of sun or moon and bit of stars and rain
all over days and windy nights.
I like to drink alone and like to choose my first drink,
when into my window
dead man’s fingers silently knocking classical rhythm-
cold drops from sky in the storm.
first I pick one beer and after full glass amber color whisky,
switch on TV. Take pen, take some paper.
so sweet and lightly sad. And I sleep after time.
and in the morning, when rains,
I still have some beer in my fridge.