The first slow,
Scraping turn
Of metallic lid
Atop ‘f my silver-stained
Hip flask
Gives way to smell of hard liquor
And sweaty palm.
It is the most eagerly anticipated
Seven seconds of each of my twenty-four hour days.
Whiskey was cheapest today,
And always preferred.
But,
As often is the case,
The lid was harder ******* on
With shaking hand
And blood scourged cheek
Telling everyone
I missed my world.