Stuff in the Basement

no, thank you Rocky Balboa!

 

It’s down there

Somewhere around my

Alcohol spotted liver

Or bloated, extended stomach

Full of microwave popcorn

And chocolate milk.

A cold little ice cube

Languishing within

Pulling me down

With its prodigious weight.

I feed him sad songs,

Disappointment,

And heartache

Blended with shots of whiskey

And empty brown beer bottles.

His tentacles

Attach to my brain stem

And funnels

Voices I’ll never hear again,

Good times that passed

Far too quickly,

Lost moonlight romances,

And all the stars

I let fall 

Through my eyes each day.

The gravedigger

With worn workers clothes

And boney imprints

Left on his tools.

Tossing over shoulder

Each clump of dirt

Until he can finally

Rest.