11 October 2012

Grief Fridge

some tube the Chattooga
with a six
pack trailing
in the numbing water

intending to consume
all of their
beer before
the end of Section II

but I have an icebox
to keep my
sorrows fresh
guard them from perishing

where time has stopped and where
I can reach
to sip once
more while checking of course

the DON’T USE AFTER dates
since the very best
bitters are
sometimes from
the deep dark distant past


1:07 a.m. next day

4 comments:

  1. "an icebox to keep my sorrows fresh" "very best bitters" - LOVE THESE LINES

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    Replies
    1. Hey Amber,
      Thanks for your kind comment. And the first line is quite a potential tongue-twister, read aloud! Which is fitting, I think, with the underlying current of intoxication.
      Cheers!
      B.R.

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  2. Replies
    1. Hey Amber,
      Yes, the title (and the sparking seed of the entire poem) came about by just some wordplay in my head making an anagram out of "grief" - just had to go borrow a "d" from the rest of the alphabet!
      Peace,
      B.R.

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