Retired / PJR

[Peter J Ross]

Retired
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A single bottle doesn't hit the spot.
A day's recourse is two or three these days.
Pour me another glass; look how it plays,
this midyear sunset with the noble rot,
to paint my fracture. This is what I've got:
a wife, a creosote cat, some stretchy praise
from bosses past. But somewhere in the haze
I know there's meaning, though I don't know what.

A warming of the western sunshine might
attach my tumorous head to a youplease body
painted, my paint, by you. Though shivered, tight
and hellish frightened, I sleep slow all night,
while you have Boschian dreams. A nightcap toddy
battens me down. Don't give me second sight.

PJR, 06 Jul 2002