Walt’s Last Stand
Scott Jamison
Walt Whitman is watching me piss,
And I am that far gone that for a split
Second I consider stealing him,
Fumbling him out of his glass-trap
And folding him into my pocket
Like a map.
It all started in a kitchen cupboard,
With the very American misconception
That Uisce Bethad flows through my veins
And that my dry lips’ reception
Would be like a drought’s for rain.
I pay for my lies
As whisky flows out of me,
Taking its damn sweet time
An up yours to my drunk knees.
Zipped and buttoned, I finish up
And walk home, a beery parade float,
Telling MM Morrison
That I sympathize with cheating politicians
And that without you
I am alone.
Related Posts
Tags
Share This
