Four bottles

Four bottles lined up
on the desk in front of the screen.
I keep them in order to make sure
I take them right, though in fact I take them

left to right, in the hope they’ll make me
right, less prone to stupid associations,
puns in place of thought, overripe
feelings.

I visit them three times a day:
once when I rise, before descending to the kitchen;
once in the afternoon;
once before sleep.

At night there’s a cat on the bed
and a night light in the corner:
charms against the void because
the pills are good, but not good enough.

In these early hours the cat and I sit in front of the screen
and he knocks the bottles down like dominoes.
Then I pick them up and put them back in order.
One for stability, another for the same, one to pick me up,

and one to keep me from going out and barking at imaginary cars.
The cat’s pleased, and as usual knocks them down again.
I pick them up again, sick to my stomach
at how long I’ve been playing this game.

About Tony Brown

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A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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