Wednesday, January 13, 2016

7674. APOTHECARY

APOTHECARY
Your big globes of colored water are standing
in your window like sentinel soldiers staring
back  - the blues and the grays indeed. I don't
know what it means, nor am I in any need.
Just nice to see the old  - reliquary of certainty,
doctor's closet of doubt and doom?
-
The chemist near here chides me for drinking.
He says the bloom will flutter through my system
and strike me dead someday. I nod, 'OK', now
send me another shot of something. He says he's
not a chemist and cut that out. 'I serve you drinks,
and that is all, you drunk.'
-
Some girls at the other section are laughing : jeez
I like that stuff. I wish I was twenty-three again, and
rough. I'm pretty sick of being this sot who can't walk
straight. My life's a waste and a brokered convention
of losers. So, ladies, here I be! Come see me!
-
I'll find some cash to throw down on the bar. If I
can find anything in here : keys, loose change, that
shell for Cankston Beach, the little screw which
fell from off my barstool. Oh, jeepers, I'm falling
again. Now everything's going down.

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