Arriving home
The work is done
Even though it still
Takes up space in your mind
But you will chase it away
Not with cheap swill
You don’t even bother
Anymore; life’s too short
And besides, it just makes
Your head ache
Opening the cabinets
You bypass the petite glasses
And go straight for the oversized
Ruby-hued wine goblet.
Then, with the skill of an artist
You uncork the bottle
And set it on the counter
To let it breathe for a moment
Head into the bedroom
And exchange the professional skin
For something more comfy.
Every room has clutter
That you happily ignore
That’s not the priority
At the moment
And now the bottle is turned sideways
Contents gently licking
And slipping down the glass
A generous pour
On a Friday night.
4 comments:
Hey. Stop spying on me. :)
you posted this on Friday morning.
I only smoke pot after work....
Author's note: poem based on a comment made by R a couple weeks ago, which is why it was written on a friday morning; it is when I remembered to write it.
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