Sense Sonnet - Acher

One Last Stand

I had a bit too much to drink,
Walking home very late at night.
With gin bottle, I'm pickled pink.
I stop there in the road to light
A cigarette, and think I heard
A loud train whistle nearby blast.
Then it all happens quick and blurred,
As that freight train goes zooming past.
I am on the track, standing there,
Holding that gin bottle in hand.
The smell of death is in the air,
As I stand still in my last stand.

My life does flash before my eyes.
Then black - still kind of a surprise.