Ode to an Inebriation Urn
You either contain
Venoms of strife,
Or some honeyed
Nectar of life;
You green clay pot of
Whiny wine,
From outside
Why do you shine?
Aren't you like
A quiet crocodile,
To kill me when
Relaxed and idle?
You either harbor
Storm of emotions,
Or just the vicious
Desires of humans;
Shelved at old tavern
You urn of inebriation,
Who takes the credit
For your creation?
Is that glassy wine flute
Your beloved cousin,
Fit to brim with your
Poisonous oozing?
There may be a Genie
Sitting inside you,
To fulfil our various
Mundane desires anew;
Or a hunter waiting
To leap up and prey,
Just for nothing
But to raise trivial fray;
Will you lure me,
Pour yourself in the jar,
Or should I falter,
And come to your bar?
Can you give equal joy
To rich and poor,
Or like a chameleon
You change your color?
The rich loves you, sips you
And laughs loudly,
The poor borrows you,
Gulps and gasps bitterly;
Why do you not
Behave impartially?
Or is it we who perceive
You so differently?
Are you made of
Black grapes and berries,
Or your liquor contains
Apples and cherries?
What? The girl next door
May fill my glass!
Hold on you old prick!
Have some class!
Isn’t it about my life
And my prerogatives,
To either accept or
Reject your narratives?
What is there
About you so divine?
If you are going to
Uncork yourself, fine!
Else, let me do
The honor, I implore!
Let me fathom you
Drown and explore,
‘Cause before I dip
In you my toe,
I need to decipher
You a friend or foe!
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