Jason Robinson

Wicked Wicked Wine

red wine
the not so kind
kind
I am not speaking
of merlot or
of cabernet sauvignon
or an elegant
dinner at
tavern on the green
a dry, full-bodied red
swimming in a deep
crystal glass
it can seduce you
it can make you drunk
but getting down and dirty
in a liver busting rage
a balled up in the
fetal position in an
extended crying jag
on the floor of your
basement flat
you need the rotgut
the cheap crap
it comes in a jug
it comes in a box
it comes in little bottles
wrapped in brown bags
mad dog
muscatel
thunderbird
ripple
it’s all the same
story
pedro just outta
the joint
panhandles a fiver
suck a bottle down
an hour later
he gets the blue-light
special for
pissing on a dumpster
now he’s back in
county lock-up
for thirty days
and a long thirty nights
linda in her doublewide
with cheating beating
truckin’ husband carl
on the road again
kevin 4 megan 3
on the sleeper sofa
in front of the TV
she rinses fills the
big gulp cup
fills it to the brim
begins the slow dance
to oblivion again
left the gas stove on
way up high
dreamed that the
children were screaming
that the walls were melting
she also dreamed that her last
sip of red really was her last
but it was, oh it was
and bacchus roared
and satan proudly applauded
“next” they said
“next”
and the demons of death
ascended