Just One Drink
He begs for one more drink, and with each I lose him.
The death of a man
Who’s never long to stay
Is replenished by the can
That turns all color to grey.
“One more drink, that’s all I ask,”
Turns to two, to five, to ten.
His emotion fills him from the flask,
“Just one more—and then,” and then.
I fight for not one that I know
Each time is a man of his own.
“This is the last, I swear, I’m low.”
Who are you? Not my blood and bone.
Does that bottle swing your fist to our face?
The one last drink, flourished with lace.
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