Crocodile Tears (Poetry)

It’s too late to be sorry now,
the words have all been said —
they all came tumbling out somehow,
a bitter load to shed

upon the unsuspecting air
whipped into sudden storm
by boozy outbursts of despair,
replayed although you’d sworn

by all that’s holy to abstain,
turn over a new leaf,
but Mistress Scotch has won again,
your resoluteness brief.

It’s way too late for penitence,
we’ve gone that route before —
as love absolved each new offence
you went and sinned some more

and time’s run out, no chances left,
your crocodilian tears
have absolutely no effect,
my heart no longer hears

your slurring voice pitched oh-so-soft
and chock-full of regret
because I know you’ll sleep it off
and, when you wake, forget.