Thoughts On Good Friday While Having A Late Afternoon Drink At Doc Harper’s | Whiskey and Words

I have never frozen to death
while passed out
in a snow bank
but I’ve gotten hypothermia
sitting next to a loved one.

The worst place
to puke is in the shower
still drunk
while Conway Twitty
sings of Linda on his mind.

I know it will be a rough night
when I consider
the first three old fashions
“dinner”

I dream of a scenario
with my brains scattered
over white walls
and it’s chilling and peaceful
but then I don’t want the brain meal
to get on the art
and I go about my day.

The icicle hanging
off the gutter in my backyard
is immaculate
and will beautifully drop
in the window well
on a bed of snow and leaves
and I fear I will miss it.

The orange peel
garnishing my drink
was a flapper from
the twenties
that I wish I could
go back in time and save.
I would kiss her neck
and take her hand
and we would escape the speakeasy
before the raid
and live in Nye
breeding and training
cutting horses
while distilling bourbon
in the bluffs.

The cold air hitting my leg
when the door opens
runs up my spine
and I’m thankful the yokel
born in the barn
holding the door open
reminds me I’m still here.