The Darkest Bar Poem by Holly Jamestone

I think I might be in hell
Because those whispering around me
Have not made me privy to where the
Key to the whiskey cabinet is

I know I was Irish on earth
And that was a good segue to drink
Morning, noon and night and guzzle
My way toward St. Patrick’s Day

I had no remorse since it’s not my fault
Just the luck of the draw that I
Crave only whiskey in my straw
And liquor in my veins

God hath no wrath like I,
Arthur Hurley, had on the day I found
That The wife, Irene, hid cash from her
Hair salon in the vacuum cleaner

Our middle son said it was
“So Daddy won’t drink it all up”
But daddy never drank Ben Franklins
ONLY Jack Daniels or Johnnie Walkers

So I drug Irene by her hair down the stairs
And turned around to face my son
He lifted me up by my collar and said he would kill me
If I ever touched his mother again

I left the house and met up with Jack and Johnnie
And we toasted the moon and the stars and the Milky Way
And I did my predawn stumble back toward home
When I misjudged the distance of that hole

Floyd’s mechanic shop left the garage door open
The usual car wasn’t mounted above the hole
Just a black, big square that took me and
Jack Daniels and Johnnie Walker into
The Darkest Bar I’ve ever known

I think I might be in heaven
Because those whispering around me
Have not made me privy to where the
Key to the whiskey cabinet is

(8-29-2013)
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