My Old Drinking Park

Vodka won’t sit still,
vodka acts.
You don’t know it

but it’s always
trying to make
its way back

to the old country.
It likes to take
the long way,

through the stop signs,
through hotel
parking lots,

the homes of complete
strangers, unfamiliar
beds with sheets

either ill-fitted
or uncommitted
to their cause.

Vodka has a plan
it won’t let you
in on.

***

Whiskey lets it idle,
whiskey thinks
and, on its best days,

whiskey writes.
You can trust it.
Let it choose the park,

the tree, and
the bench.
You’re disappointed, but

you won’t be disappointed.
That’s how I used

to end up here,
along the river,
watching the water

go by
with no agenda.

***

After a storm,
the first thing you do
is check on

your friends.
You guys alright?
Do you have

power? That’s why
I’m here now
to survey the damage.

It’s not as shady
as it used to be.
The gate is just

as inviting, but
the rest of the fence
is a testament

to what oak and pine
can do to brick
and wrought iron.

I wonder if this
is still the place
whiskey

would choose to
hide out. I hope
it never gets

a chance to tell me.
See, whiskey
lets it idle,

and whiskey thinks, but
whiskey also has a plan.
It wants to return you

to the river.

–September 12, 2017