I've been drinking with my father.
He’s drinking beer.
I’m drinking bourbon.
This is a first
time to learn a little via
en vino veritas.
My mother's off in the city.
She wouldn't approve of this.
Drinking.
My father.
With.
I've been drinking with my father.
He’s drinking beer.
I’m drinking bourbon.
He's showing me how to burn the
inside of an empty whiskey bottle;
the blue flame consuming
the last remnants of alcohol
save for the bit still in my glass,
the bit in my stomach,
in my blood.
whooo wheeee
I've been drinking with my father.
He’s drinking beer.
I’m drinking bourbon.
Almost exactly in the middle of this poem Jeremy intoxicates us.... One for the road, anyone?
ReplyDeleteThis poem hits close to home. The first time that I saw my mother after I had finally found my father after hunting for him for 15 years, we sat down for a long talk. She pulled out a 1.5 liter bottle of Jack Daniels and I placed a liter of Johnny Walker Black on the table. We drank and talked and drank and talked. This fine poem takes me back to that moment.
ReplyDelete