Döner

Dead drunk 

and beneath a bus shelter – 

I victoriously hold up the cheap kebab 

to a blurry moon like the severed head 

of a common enemy. 

A passing driver glares at me and I smile,

offering him a bite of this meat treat, 

but he drives off in a foul mood – 

far too sober to enjoy this dirty delicacy. 

I chew on a couple more pickled chillis, 

wondrously lost in the moment, 

as if this was the truest thing 

that I’d find from the cradle to the grave – 

before an icy gale shakes the bus shelter 

and I clutch the fading warmth 

of the half eaten kebab’s tinfoil jacket.

I then make haste as seagulls circle above, 

staggering back home with my kebab 

and a small and stupid grin on my face – 

like some false bonus from 

a forgotten tomorrow.



Gwil James Thomas is a poet, novelist and inept musician from Bristol, England. His written work has been published widely in both print and online publications and has also been translated into Greek and Spanish. He has forthcoming works with Poems For All, Between Shadows Press and Holy & Intoxicated Publications.

Categories: Poetry

Daily Drunk

Shawn Berman runs The Daily Drunk. You can follow him on Twitter @Sbb_writer.

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