PINK WHISKEY RYE

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you would think that when

somebody starts drink-

ing they would know

when to stop.

But she don’t.

She was lit

on whiskey.

She drinks it with wine

that’s pink and bruised

and matches her eye

 

it creeps up

on her, the

grapes creep up her vine.

They ferment her mind.

 

They tell her its okay

to cry to Patsy Cline,

That no man is

Johnny Cash

to her Penny

Tambourine.

 

She’s got her mother’s job

and a business degree,

who cares if the stars don’t shine

nowhere but on her tv,

She’s got pink wine and odes

to better times.