Dipsomaniacs Poem by James McLain

Dipsomaniacs and bipolar the luxuriant every
mixture of manic between county lines driven deep
within the everglades.
Dipsomaniacs
Most going only as far north,
as the top of each pine to retrieve a feather or two.
Left behind by the last lover that flew the nest.
Maybe back then it was cute ridding on the back
of some comprehensible, prehistoric upscale alligator.
Though with one arm thrown back that martini was
never spilled and sipping it from some green reed.
Being eccentric has it's draw backs.
Isn't it odd how egocentric and quite once the alligator
was once made out to be.


o.n.