The Bottom Of The Glass Poem by Robin Bennett

You always are the one that tries
to remain optimistic, while I hang my
hopes on a long distance star.
I see Saturn and her rings, carefree
spinning in the night. Your down to
Earth outlook, is quick to point out
my never ending supply of pipe dreams.
Seems they all go up in smoke anyway.

Maybe I've put to much stock into Saturn,
I'm hoping Mars doesn't turn away in
a fit of jealousy. Her red surface and
unbearable heat, seem like a prelude to
hell. We've never been close for that reason.

So, again I falter. You with your glass half full
of Milwaukee's finest, as I sit trying to make sense
of the tea leaves in the bottom of my cup. I remember
the day I stop believing in faith. For now, karma and
superstition guide me.

No black cat paths, I avoid ladders. Never open an
umbrella indoors. I stay locked up every Friday the 13th.
No sense pressing this strange luck. I supposed things do
look better when you view the world from a bottom of a
glass filled with liquor.