Thursday, January 28, 2016

Too Drunk to Fake



If I were your beer,
you knocked me over
and I spillt all over
your white blouse
and pleated skirt
and your stained seat
and the unswept floor
with all the stepped-on
dreams of drunks
now dead
or sobered.

The bartender, a lady
of round shoulders
and narrow convictions
has just cut you off
but she says smile,
you're welcome back
again tomorrow.

She'll buy you the first
beer.

You can spill me again,
and I'll be fine with that.


~

3 comments:

Charles Gramlich said...

Interesting take on being the beer. :)

Cloudia said...

Quirky, concealing deeper intonations, Eric

eric1313 said...

Thank you! It's been a very rough day here, but when I woke up, I had one line I liked and made a poem from it. Like a prompt, it came through.