A Toast to Drunkenness

Your verse is always
"I'm alright".
You never will relent
to simple basic commonsense
to spare us more regret.

Your chant is always
confident.
You never will admit
that sometimes
you are way too drunk
to swerve before you hit.

Your hands are always
much too numb.
They lose all feint control.
They cannot grip
nor hold the wheel.
Your palms are cold
as stone.

Your breath is always
much too foul.
You cannot even smell
the nightmare
you impose on those
whose wheel
may steer to hell.

Your eye is always
much too flushed.
You never will foresee.
The anguish I exonerate
each time you miss a tree.

Your liver now
is much too limp
you have a month to breathe.
The blood they feed you now
in pints,
go toast and drink
disease.

(c) Charlene Rajendran 1999