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Untitled 12/10/2019

I’ll be at this tavern for the next

few hours, chewing my whiskey

as the karaoke brigade

takes turns raping the microphone;

producing sounds that I can 

only compare to a

humping dog

forcing its way into my ear canal - 

but, I’m not ready to go home

just yet.


She’s there and she’s not happy,

but then, she never is.


Ah… There are several types of women

in this world, and I understand

none of them

so, instead, 

I will tell you about bourbon.  


Some batches are relentless in their 

bitter bite and cloying foulness

that they must be masked

with juices and sickeningly sweet syrups - 

but, even with all of the added fuss,

it’s essence will linger in your gut

for the night’s entirety.


Others are well balanced and

quite agreeable for parties and

home gatherings that demand

something universally palatable.


Then there are the few small batches

with arrogant bravado that tightens 

your chest when you swallow;

hiding it’s flavors behind a veil of fire - 


but an experienced whiskey aficionado 

knows the effect of a single ice cube

- slowly dissipating -

encouraging the bourbon to bloom;

it’s complexities dancing delightfully     

across your palate. 


I’m not sure if there is a similar methodology

for navigating the world of women,

but if I ever find an ice cube

that can make my wife more palatable,

I’ll dedicate a sonnet to it’s memory.
Written by TyrannicalWorm (Nathan A. Brock)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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