Shot Glass Heart
I've got a medicine cabinet
doubling as my bedside table
to where I'm able
to store my Bacardi white rum
in case I wake up
teary-eyed and screaming
in the middle of the night
from a dream
I wasn't preferring
My heart's a shot glass
that no one wants to take all of
so they sip me
and I burn them mercilessly
leaving little time in this
'pour me another' romance
for intimacy
So if a shot glass cracks
as it struggles to keep up
with the names
to the all the lips it touches
does anybody care?
Or is it just
a morning after
mindless answering machine message stare
into one more window
that shows fractured life
through chipped glass
And if a shot glass
falls off a table
shattering on the floor
in an empty bar
three hours past cut-off
does it make a sound?
Well
I set my alarm for
four a.m. after a heartbreak
and I put a pitcher to my chest
to check and see
and yes
a shot glass does indeed
scream when it's smashed
But it also has the capacity
to laugh
and it particularly purrs
when it's led
by two loving female fingers
to a VIP room
And later
my body interrogates it
about the experience
because the heart
always feels things
a few seconds faster
than everything else
So a shot glass
glowing alone
on a neon bar sign lit table
is just reporting
the days news
to the extremities
And a pitcher
is just another way
to say
'I'm still alive'
And a medicine cabinet
is just a place
to keep secrets
that keep you that way.
And your body
is only the bridge between
real, emotional, and spiritual
Making alcohol the lubrication
to which we use
to slip in between two opposite lives
And planning to leave one behind
would be like begging
for our shot glasses
to cut our lips
with mis-matched romances
and flowers playing themselves off
as people pretending to be
'forget-me-please's
It's too bad the glass
can be both half
of empty and full
simultaneously.
Copyright © Keenan Mackay | Year Posted 2006
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