Tuesday, January 12, 2016

poem of the day 01.12.16


my grandmother
had no problem with whisky
sitting at her kitchen table
with brittle yellow calendars
working lottery numbers
the way some do palm readings or magic
have some whisky, she told me
i was twelve years old and obese
give him some whisky
she said to my grandfather
who was talking the steelers with his bookie
drinking whisky before noon
his eggs and potatoes and bacon in a large mound
whisky will calm you down
my grandmother said
though i didn’t know that i was nervous
although i always have been
nervous and unsettled
like my grandmother
like the time she blew her paycheck
on the dogs and horses
drinking whisky
then checked herself into western psych
sitting there now
trying to figure out the lottery
how to run the numbers and work the game
i’ll get you some whisky, she said
reaching for the amber bottle of imperial
whisky and a beer chaser, she said
to help us think
like we were trying to recite shakespeare
the word of god
in two small, sculpted orange juice glass
that my grandparents always used
for whisky.


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