like father, like son

wanting to pour poetry
from a bottle
of Pinot Grigio
to uncork the perfect pairing
of words and emotion
in an untitled document
trying to escape the collision
of headache and hope with
the right metaphor
stoking my muse there in the wine
my poem scrapes against the easiness
of inkjet black on white

he stood unsteadily
the car was his vehicle
driven with a practiced recklessness
he sought to slake a more primal thirst
I never understood
as the bourbon burned his throat
then softly drenched
his drought of dreams
for a while he found forgiveness
fulfillment there in the bottle

his Oldsmobile keyed with barbed wire
while taking out the farmer’s fence

there was nothing easy about his poetry
of rubber and speed
steel and noise

Barry DeCarli
April 15, 2010 (6)
Copyright 2010 Barry DeCarli