Señor Tequila

"What do you want, girl?"  
   
It was a devil's reject road block full of bullets and blood,  
dented cars and endings too long in the making. A lack of    
control and the wheel goes spinning onto a "SOLD" sign  
and arched brick porch destined to be your new address.    
   
I could no more write this poem than I could speak back    
then because I was tired of riding in back seats of convenience    
store bags with finger-print glass and brothers screaming to a    
hay-fevered radio on a floorboard of trash.    
   
"Talk to me, girl."  
   
I wanted to escape, Free Bird it, but wasn't old enough,  
no choice but to unpack and wade through knee-length grass    
to the waiting door of something I'd already lost more than I    
had any interest in counting (...four five six...)  
   
There comes a time you're pushed too hard; the water-  
wheel prevents the flow when the axle cracks; the rusted    
cog jams the clock, the plowshare snaps, the oxen part    
and you're left trying to cool the red on your cheek.    
   
Offer the beaten dog a bone, the cat a mouse after being    
starved, the baby breasts after abuse and a child warmth  
after abandonment; see if they don't grasp for it despite    
circumstance. Extremes destroy trust like alcohol does love;  
 
"What do you want, girl?"  
   
What did I want but never begged? I wanted you to love    
alcohol less and you more than anything else, including me.    

~