My father gave me the
Last of his wine.
Thus leaving the rest of that
Habit behind.
His eyes, once blue like skies
Over sea,
Were grey with regret when
He gave it to me.
The older you grow, the
Better it sits,
The bitterness clouding both
Wisdom and wits.
I'm glad he won't know
How well I understand
How much the bottle can
Steal from a man.
If anything's off in your
Body or soul,
If angry or lonely or
Not feeling whole,
The first things to toss so your
Boat doesn't sink,
Are the barrels and bottles marked:
Too Much to Drink.