Ambrosia

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This is not biographical nor confessional poetry, tis about something I read in the newspaper.
It is called 'Ambrosia' because it is a greek word meaning 'food of the Gods' which is how alcohol seems to be interperated, though it's consequences aren't always 'Godly.'



Beer bottle welfare
Smoking in the new linen chair.
And you get out the old liquor pipe
And an old sunhat of yellowed white.
Like the teeth that fall into your sunken jaw
And the eyes that watch and wage war.
The pocket watch ticks noisily away
But you do not notice
You are head heavy, heart empty
In your own sunken words.
How rich you fill your glass
Of an amber liquid
Of a golden ambrosia scar.
The cracking of your knuckles
Join in a melody of trepidation.
One that you do not see
But it shakens me and fear I be
And fear and fear
And gentle fear
Escalades into me
And then you smile with crooked teeth
And I am me and I am neither
I am the wife of a brute, of a numb, soberless beater.