Holiday Cheer

 

After Hours

 

He raised the goblet to his mouth

It was red wine he’d planned to drink deep

But what were those specs

Skin of the grape not pasteurized

Sediment from the bottom of the barrel

Barrel’s bottom poetically so

That should smell sweet

 

But a closer look

 

They had tiny wings

All eight of them they do, or did

“Seriously?” he exclaimed to no one near

They weren’t moving

They’d had their fill

Died trying to finish it off

That’s a laugh

Like trying to drink the ocean dry

Not in anyone’s lifetime

 

What to do

About these squatters

Skinny-dipping D’Abruzzo pool

He got a spoon

Scooped one by one

Meticulously so

Commanding sternly

“Little bastard, spit it out!”

No response sealed fate all round

Tossed into the disposal

Into infinity ground, mashed more accurately so

Pulverized

The deed now done

He drained his glass without a sound

 

 

 

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