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Maybe even by my
own hand, if things
turned too, too bleak.
But now I want to
live. Want to love.
Want to be loved.
I have to keep on
riding this train
for that to happen.
TRAINS LIKE THIS
Generally wreck sooner or later.
So far so good, though.
Grandfather has not missed
the short pours of whiskey
I’ve indulged in lately. They say
liquor is quicker, and whiskey
is definitely quicker than champagne
when it comes to a good buzz.
A shot or two, nothing scares me,
nothing hurts me. I like how that feels.
The weird thing is, Grandfather’s
own drinking has waned. It’s as if
the wedding planning has reduced
his stress. I don’t understand why.
I do know I’ll have to find a way
to replace what I’ve taken from
the liquor cabinet before he swings
the other way again. Bound to happen
after tomorrow. Once the wedding
is over. The reception done,
