She was always there,
waiting at the bottom
of that damn glass.
Usually after about
seven or eight drinks
she would fade to
almost invisible.
But tonight she
would not go away.
Her memory refused
even to dim.
Should he reach
the bottle's end
with no relief,
option "B",
the forty five caliber snub nose
will let him rest in peace.
A contest entry
- Picture this by Whisper Mckee.
600 points, ended April 2, 2008, 10 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
Tight write... sad but extremely real!!!
-
I never thought of the picture this way, but I like the idea. Good luck.
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