Always and Until
It lies chilling in his freezer,
tucked away and in repose,
always ready with an answer,
like a soothsayer who knows
his reckless need for distilled spirits,
vodka is his danger zone,
alcohol's his habit
and he always drinks alone.
Spending all his welfare dough
on substitutes for nourishment,
the cheapest brands, with shaking hands
he squanders his entitlement.
Simple, yet so complicated,
joy and sorrow flow so fast,
like water off a penguin's back,
until the die be cast.
It never was to take the edge off,
gulp, the medicine goes down,
empty bottle, he's not breathing,
takes his final trip downtown.
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2015
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