Zonked Sobriety
The bottles, looking sober, mutely wait till it's over.
Between quaffs and hiccups,
he mumbles that he had staggered
and fell so many times,
that he had tried zigzagging
down society's proper paths to suit
places and climes,
that he can't help disappointing
anyone, to him blazing and trekking
trails are never crimes.
With zonked sobriety, he winks
at his tonic and gin and asks
them conspiratorially:
"Must my self-worth hang on
to the crack in the crumbling crag
loosening off perilously
from the edge of the steep cliff
of other people's opinions, and crash
down, crushed cruelly?"
The bottles, looking sober, mutely wait till it's over.
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