Lisa Needs To Lay Off the Sauce
Lisa's vodka voice
calls from outside,
later than late, when
the stars have shut down
for the night, refusing
boozer-sight that prevents
one from tripping.
Screech owl's search light,
a Full-Sturgeon moon,
is still much too dark, if inebriated
to distinguish which cement walls
are most likely to attack.
Two eves past, her
horse auditioned,
center-stage,
in the living room.
He too loves a good
drink.
Excuse me, for I hear
her knock of desperation
at the door. As for Duke,
the horse; not to worry,
he can hold his own beer.
Copyright © Regina Branham | Year Posted 2009
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment