Poetry: My Chilled Guest

 

There’s a bottle of whiskey,
sitting in the icebox just for me.
Every time I open the door,
it greets me with the offer:
Take a pull, have a pour!

It’s been half empty for
quite awhile now.
Every time I open the door,
Oh, how the greeting comes:
Take a pull, have a pour!

I’m not given to drink
and yet,
I pause.
A smile, a furrowed brow,
a troubled mind,
a wounded heart.
I decline the invitation,
the refrain once more:
Take a pull, have a pour!

With resolve and
maybe a little bit of regret,
I close the door to entertaining.
My chilled guest can wait.
Another night?
Perhaps…
Maybe then I’ll take a pull,
or have a pour…

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