Robert Poem by John W. McEwers

He was the kind of man
that you didn't drink tequila with.
He was the kind of man
that always smelled of honest work.
He was the kind of man
that never took anything you couldn't afford to lose.

What could you afford to lose, Robert?
What could I, that you've taken from me?
And who can take the misery away?

I will drink this tequila without you,
though I'd trade the worm for the chance
to make the mistake
of drinking it with you.