in my glass
stands a tiny glorious sword
vanquishing an oversized olive
rivulets running down the side
trails from the edge
pooling at the apex
of the upturned cone
fluid sights
fill my vision
soft yet bright edges
unusual clarity in a clouded sort of way
I call for more
to myself of course
then the bartender speaks
I am overserved
everything is funny
nothing is important
nothing gets done
until tomorrow
my guests bemused
all burdens suspended
reason removed
a cunning plan emerges
and is quickly laughed out of sight
morning welcomes me brightly
reminds me of my calling
to live another day
in service of life itself
no task holds greater glory
First published on Tribe
3 comments:
An ode to a martini?
Maybe you're drinking a little too much these days, mister.
Peggy
Somebody had a cast party! (Maybe it was a one-person cast party...)
Thanks for looking out for me Peg but I think I have quite a long way to slide yet. I wrote it weeks ago, while sober.
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