With my head held high,
Feeling light.
I jaunt down the avenue.
The heels of my feet unsteady,
“This sailor still has his sea legs!”
I gargle as my body stumbles,
Tumbles,
Face bloodied on asphalt and rubble.
Even though my mug is mangled,
My bottle is intact.
And that is what truly matters.
The glass cannot break;
Shred my being to tatters!
Before I part from my everlasting bond
Of neck in hand.
One last swig!
Before I head out to sea.
I may drown…
But there’s no drink in the deep.