In the first pandemic
of the 21st Century,
there's nothing to do,
but get drunk on well bourbon,
scream at the memories
of ****** gone astray,
and write poetry
on cheap paper.

–Ron Gavalik

She said,
‘You really don’t know
how to love.’
I disagreed.
The next one said,
‘You don’t express love.’
I disagreed.
The last one
didn’t say anything.
She just walked.
Now, I agree.

–Ron Gavalik

On Sundays, I drink
more coffee and more whiskey.
Reflections on the previous week
provide for accurate predictions
about the week ahead.
Books and snacks go down easily.
Attaining clear focus
helps the writer observe society
to build the words
that raise spirits
and raze evil.

–Ron Gavalik

At dusk, under gray skies,
whiskey thoughts wander
in the lust of lost hopes.
Memories surface
of forgotten love
and the memorable rage
of injustice.
We are the chaos.
We are the solution.
We are the beginning
and the end.

–Ron Gavalik

Bourbon whiskey
and dark chocolate
are tender injections
of love
for the people
who are not
in love

–Ron Gavalik

Many Twitter profiles
have statements that read:
“My tweets do not speak for my employer.”
I suggest revising those statements to read:
“My employer does not speak for me.”
After all, who is the master
of your 80 years on this Earth?
I'm rooting for you.

–Ron Gavalik

When the proles see in reds,
the rich lose their heads.
Bathed in the blood of villains,
workers dance and laugh,
they **** and love.
****** are redeemed.
Books are embraced.
Drink is consumed.
The blue-green Earth,
after such a long abuse,
is finally reclaimed.