My Old Drinking Park

Vodka won’t sit still,

vodka acts.

You don’t know it

but it’s always

trying to make

its way back

to the old country.

It likes to take

the long way,

through the stop signs,

through hotel

parking lots,

the homes of complete

strangers, unfamiliar

beds with sheets

either ill-fitted

or uncommitted

to their cause.

Vodka has a plan

it won’t let you

in on.

***

Whiskey lets it idle,

whiskey thinks

and, on its best days,

whiskey writes.

You can trust it.

Let it choose the park,

the tree, and

the bench.

You’re disappointed, but

you won’t be disappointed.

That’s how I used

to end up here,

along the river,

watching the water

go by

with no agenda.

***

After a storm,

the first thing you do

is check on

your friends.

You guys alright?

Do you have

power? That’s why

I’m here now

to survey the damage.

It’s not as shady

as it used to be.

The gate is just

as inviting, but

the rest of the fence

is a testament

to what oak and pine

can do to brick

and wrought iron.

I wonder if this

is still the place

whiskey

would choose to

hide out. I hope

it never gets

a chance to tell me.

See, whiskey

lets it idle,

and whiskey thinks, but

whiskey also has a plan.

It wants to return you

to the river.

September 12, 2017