I don’t miss the drink

March 9, 2007

I don’t miss the drink
unless I think about it. This is a farewell poem.

Because wine isn’t a beverage, it’s a person:
Bacchus, fat and gaudy as a present
or the Celt who’s your friend in a moment
or me, a part of me, who is dying now.

Which drunk was I? Drunks are like people –
we share it like humanity, and there are categories:
mouthy, punchy, sleepy, dopey and tearful –

but I was the one fiddling with Cleo
while Rome earned. I followed
a bearded aquaintance and ended up starting
the Cuban Revolution. I tempted suicides down

from tall buildings
because I had borrowed more spirit
than I could ever hold sober.

It remembers. I remember.
It wants to die now. Tipped over.

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One Response to “I don’t miss the drink”

  1. haijin said

    You have been busy again. Wow great stuff. I was particularly drawn to this because I gave up drinking a little over two years ago now. Keep writing.

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