The Whiskey Man

 

He carried it with him

His own miasma

 

When he leaned over to kiss me

He left a bit of it behind

 

A vapor hovered

Above his chair

 

Lingered in his car

On his clothes

 

He called it Scotch

But it was whiskey pure and simple

 

Country of origin irrelevant

He drank it

 

And drank it

Until he became the whiskey man

 

 

 

 

 





Poetry by jim The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 132 times
Written on 2022-01-31 at 02:51

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D G Moody The PoetBay support member heart!
I liked how you convey he became what he drank - and not in a good way.
2022-02-03


Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
This, too, is "pure and simple." Nice work.
2022-01-31