Friday, April 2, 2010

National Poetry Month, Day #2: Happy Hour

Happy Hour

Throw my sorrows a life preserver,
because I'm ready to drown them.

Don't worry,
I think they have a death wish, anyway;
they're always driving recklessly
and trying to make toast
in the bathtub.

What's the opposite
of liquid courage?
Solid fear?
Gaseous ambivalence?
Are these the states
of does it matter?

Almost midnight now,
but on the other side of the world
it's high noon,
it's a stand-off with a stranger
in front of a dusty old saloon,
it's an itchy trigger finger away
from a victory parade
or the grave,
if there's a difference.

We're halfway between here
and there, in the drink.

What's the opposite
of holding my sorrows'
head down?

Bottoms up.

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