We can drink
until we feel
pretty enough to talk to,
brave enough to fight for,
or sad enough to cry.
Leave old bandages
piled on the floor,
as we expose old wounds
and share stories
of a life lived.
Come on,
let me pour another.
Drain back the last of that
Kentucky elixir
and fire up that smoke.
There’s no judgement here.
We’ll share crime stories
like two convicts.
War stories,
like old veterans.
And tales
of the one that got away,
like men who know
the hourly rate for regret.
What does this all mean?
have we run down the clock,
already?
Look!
The sand in the hourglass
is only half passed.
We still have time.
I’ll pull out
another bottle.
This is why
I keep plenty on hand.
Tell me another one.
I’m here to hear the story
of who you are
and how you came to be.
Here,
in this place,
right now.
Drink another one down.
I’ll be here
all night.
Just listening
to the story of your life.
HG – 2022
