Lonely Nightcap

Amidst the turmoil and all the propaganda. There’d still be Cognac at eight, on the verandah.

A repast of sorts as we’d sit in our shorts. And sample from all the fifths and quarts.

Driving through life, I made a few errant turns. Right in the heart of some political concerns.

The courts were bad, the lawyers worse. The outcome should have been a hearse.

The verdict came, loud and clear. I wasn’t even allowed a beer.

Tethered to a prison cell. Nothing was closer to a living hell.

Emancipation came one day in September. There was a chill in the air as I remember.

Headed downtown for something to drink. Tripped on a rock and started to think.

If I got arrested would I be bailable? Hell, let’s go see if some bourbon is available.

A package store, what a delight. Still open and it’s passed midnight.

I walked in and like it was an order. There’s quart of Old Crow for six and a quarter!

I headed west, down by the river. The wind was blowing and I started to shiver.

I opened her up and the glass touched my lips. I felt the sensation down to my hips.

There was a bridge about a mile ahead, Under which was a fine place to lay my head.

I found some old cloth and papers to keep me warm. This was certainly a bit out of the norm.

I made my bed the best I could. With rags wrapped around, for a hood.

I should have had a viable plan – a back up. Not here drinking whiskey from a paper cup.