a poem by Timothy Gager (1 of 2)

While She Works on Her Marriage, I Get Drunk

O sweet Tequila, we haven't spoken in a long time;
communication is difficult, rote, slow to respond.

And Gin, he's sorry that he hit you the other night.
It was quite unexpected and he swears it won't happen again.

Beer. Stiffly pretends to be excited in your presence,
and anyone, superficial even, would laugh at the transparency.

There's Vodka and breakfast. Will he ever perform menial tasks
for you: eggs, bacon, toast, newspaper, splashed orange or tomato juice.

At least Scotch leaves, he chases the eighteen year old variety
the perfect age, so smooth, tasty, he admits, too readily.

I go to drink, and you two go to therapy; mine
a bartender somewhere, says she enjoys helping people.

© by Timothy Gager
Gutter Eloquence Magazine ~ Issue #5 ~ September 2009