TEETOTALER SONG

I stand here in this storeroom

Staring in one corner

Where liquor

And

Wine bottles

Sit unopened;

Coated with dust.

My eyes run a panoramic scan

Of each dark bottle…

Each finely-shaped vial,

And the memories come

In vivid

Synesthetic

Jabs.

The smell of freshly-peeled

Irish potatoes

Stuffs my nose

As the heat

From a shot of vodka

Seeps neat–ly

Into the corroding walls

Of my stomach…

Then limbs melt

Into deep veins

And all movements

Become liquid.

The taste of spiced red wine

Slowly colors my vision

As white wine binges

Break the hinges

Of the door

Of my inhibitions.

I hear it whine

As it hangs loose–ly.

I shudder violently

As tequila

Like a grey,

Hairy,

Tarantula

Crawls up my legs

Unlocks my knees,

And semi-strangers

Go further up

To play

As the drums beat

The sounds

Of my regret…

‘blame it on the…

blame it on the…’

Scalding morning-after tears

Push down

Emergency erasers

Making way for

Tomorrows that are

Battered with chugs

Of brandy

That drowns

“No’s”

Under an avalanche

Of cheap consents.

Missed trains

And

Missed periods

Leaving a girl bitter

As the

Bitters that made

Cocktails

That were

Kept down

By

Deep-throat jobs

Hours before that job interview.

Too many chances…

Blown!

 I stand here…

In this poorly-lit storeroom

Counting the bottles

And

My losses.

They stare back at me…

My former bosses.

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