Ode To Whiskey

CATEGORY

just different

This whiskey has got me drunk
My stomach, the distillery
Filled with amber, charcoal
and the remnants of gasoline.
The throat burns,
a fire on the rocks sliding down the gullet.
Old number seven.
Always drank never sipped.
Straight from the bottle.
Some mixed with coke.
Tipsy at the tailgate,
the American way
Blasting country and rock n roll music,
lined up hot rods and smoking tires,
are the only memories that reside.
A case of amnesia of the night before
The Moonshiners of prohibition would be proud.
From Lynchburg, Tennessee
With Love