Solitude

Having a drink with a dusty friend

In Solitude

Tip toe in dark where mushrooms grow

One step at a time into the cellar cold

Where hollow finds a niche in soils void

Barefooted through chambers down below

Bottles covered in dust line up to count

The years of vintage since they’ve been found

By flashlight or human being in social distancing

A fragile ancient hand waves cobwebs away

Like a magician in the act of prestidigitation

To find the proper drink for this occasion

Take solace in the black on black tonight

When you return Netflix will have your back