Three Shots

Winter in dirty rounds
Left a sour chaser
In this summer soul
El Sol hears
My shaken last call
And responds
Warm rays fall
A tonic that bides me
Straight up until spring


The kamikaze ball dive
sent a spritzer of
mud and hair of the dog
across the erstwhile neat landscape
of three sheets to the wind
With shaken resolve
Bro and I
face Mama


Days of straight
getting hammered, plastered

Now after a paint chaser
all proof of the head shot
soused across the wall is gone

Tipsy with exhaustion
only the bloody memory
has me stirred


Yesterday, De (aka WhimsyGizmo), invited us to mix our muses up a bit by throwing some pub and drinking terms in the blender. But to use the words in ways that have nothing to do with the bar scene, alcohol, or drinking. Being verbose, I went for the tall drink realizing after the fact she wanted shots of no more that 33 words. Being a lush I offer the “three shots” above.

dVerse Poetics: Muse Mixology

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