SPILLED WINE
Our nights are always the same, we start it mundane
just simple, then a sip of wine to alleviate the days pain
we ease into it slowly, as the conversations get started
one glass at a time, we talk about our day, the kids, the car
will dinner be on the table this time? we laugh, we giggle
we hold hands by the fire, by the third or fourth glass
we have moved on to the meaning of life, the state of
politics; ready to declare what side, we are on...we do this each night
in spite of ourselves, you'd think we'd know better
but with a touch grape on our lips, to let the obscenities' flow steadier
we stamp our feet, and gnash our teeth, to make our point sharper
as the night rolls around, it gets later and later, now dinner is burnt
as we set blame on each other, we loose inhibitions, as we become
all glassy eyed and slurred, finally we reach the end of the bottle
we're bad, what a shame, too late for another run, empty stomachs spurn so we order take-out from the place down the street and nurse
huge headaches that feel like hell on earth, we go to bed as if still
friends and lovers, as if nothing has happened, that is until tomorrow when
we imbibe once more, getting our favorite bottle of wine from the local liquor store
by Michael Perry