deepundergroundpoetry.com

the red wine rodeo

as a parent, at least I know
to look for fuchsia in the snow
 
or in spots about the kitchen tile.
 
As my child's only chance
to refuse addiction's dance,
 
I'll sharpie-mark my bottles,  
I will not be beguiled
 
by the easy, wide suburban walls,
or leave the wine to stench and call
 
to my sober, bored, alone
suburban child.
 
The redness will not find their teeth -
the yellow, either, after weeks
of hearing siren songs
 
and listening.
 
What a light head.  
dad is kind and funny and would never hurt us,
ever,
but he goes through bottles so quick
 
he does not notice the sneaky red
in my coffee mug,
 
or the wine/water level
bucking up to the lip of the bottle;
doing the drought -
shrinking,
shrinking,
almost - and
 
all out.
Written by rowantree
Published | Edited 21st Dec 2018
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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