Once bought a bottle of Johnnie Walker, the big one
at Tokyo duty free shop
with Japanese yen coins scrounged from dusty attic boxes
containing remnants of better days.
Set it on my shelf in Canton.
Down the level dropped day by day
until one awful night, an awful fight,
shelves crashed and bottle smashed
and then a whiskey soaked morning of regret
came and went so long ago
through fevered years of sour grief and tears-
My 34th birthday looms
and a new bottle finds its way to me
an innocent gift and ignorant of my sins.
A second chance bottle!
A second chance at what?
At relationships, at composure, at control-
at madness and inevitable compulsive indulgent disaster.
I wish I hadn't kept all that Jap change in the attic.
Wei Zhong Le
Thursday, February 25, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: alcohol,alcoholism,drinking,drunk,grief ,regret,sadness