My dad drank too much.
He shot bourbon at bars
and barbed insults at home.
The anger brewed inside him,
a biting mash of memories
aging in rows of barrels
running from breast to bowel,
pickling his insides as he
forced us each to drink
the poison of his past.
--
April PAD Day 8 - peaceful or violent
Showing posts with label whiskey. Show all posts
Showing posts with label whiskey. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
TAINTED
His excuse was plausible enough.
That old, rusted Buick had stalled
on the interstate until a Good Samaritan
had stopped and helped him out.
His kiss was soft enough.
The sweet smell of whiskey hadn't
tainted his tongue and seeped into
his sweat-soaked work shirt.
Her heart was open enough.
She willingly fell into his arms and
into bed, but wondered if that Good Samaritan
had been wearing lipstick.
That old, rusted Buick had stalled
on the interstate until a Good Samaritan
had stopped and helped him out.
His kiss was soft enough.
The sweet smell of whiskey hadn't
tainted his tongue and seeped into
his sweat-soaked work shirt.
Her heart was open enough.
She willingly fell into his arms and
into bed, but wondered if that Good Samaritan
had been wearing lipstick.
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