A Drink Before Dinner

Every night before he ate, My Zayde* had a drink, A shot glass filled up to the brim With whiskey – rye, I think. His hands were shaky, but I swear, He never spilled a drop; And while we watched him lift that glass, All else would simply stop. That drink would mark the passage Of the daytime into night, A celebration of the fact He’d made it through all right. That’s my interpretation, Though it’s possible, of course, He drank because he liked a buzz And whiskey was its source. No matter why he did imbibe, I’ve kept with the tradition, Although I lean towards beer or wine, My drinking definition. I sometimes think of Zayde As I’m downing my first sip, And think that he’d approve As long as I don’t waste a drip. *my great-grandfather