We are all drunkards here
—Akhmatova
Southern Comfort
And then, just like that, we quit the hiss
and slash, the past two years fall away,
claws retract, I don't know what changed,
if anything, doesn't matter, just like that,
Southern Comfort, maybe it was Willie,
maybe that settled it, doesn't matter—
maybe he did what I couldn't, doesn't
matter, Southern Comfort tastes good,
maybe we needed to get a little drunk,
look at each other in that slantwise light.
Don't say it, don't say it doesn't matter,
it wasn't Willie, it wasn't that, he was
a kite on a windy day—a pint doesn't
change anything, and nothing is settled.
Poetry by jim
Read 633 times
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Written on 2018-11-04 at 12:54
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