Whiskey Weeds - Poem by Tony Grannell
He had enough, the bucket, kicked,
that no-good acre had him licked.
In times of weeds, he hoed and picked,
what little earned, the liquor, nicked.
When losing grip, his worries hacked
and gored until his spirits cracked.
He gave his all but strength he lacked,
to whiskey, took when fear attacked.
In drunkenness, his senses decked,
his whereabouts unhinged, unchecked.
The bottles hollowed, poured and necked,
waste not what wanted, drained and wrecked.
All's lost when wits plunge punched and pocked;
imaginings, in nightmares, mocked.
When bearings drift, in madness locked,
the merest hint of reason, rocked.
Into his fears he lanced and sucked
till left but weeds where once he mucked.
Mid rants and rues, the mind untucked
and buried drunk; from life, he ducked.
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