The Beast in the Bottle
Author: Bill Roberts
We know where he hides,
in those bottles in that cabinet,
no locks on the doors,
screw caps easy to uncouple,
let him breathe before you
start the transition, drinking
all of him so you become him.
Once you start, no stopping
until the transformation is complete -
you once again the beast you fear,
couldn’t keep bottled up.
Your weakness, no secret,
usually in control until….something
happens, trips an unquenchable thirst.
Then the beast rages, for days at
a time, contained within the walls
of your domicile, no longer a castle
but a prison, you in the dungeon.
With time, the beast will exhaust
himself, creep away into shadow.
You will recover, though the brain
has taken another concussive blow.
Slowly a form of normality returns
and you return to the world of
semi-beasts, wondering, wondering…
when will he return, the beast?
He’s there, always, waiting for you
in stores – purchase prices always
reduced twenty percent Mondays
and Tuesdays, still beastly prices.
(This poem was published today, 2/08/10, online by Marquis Cafeteria Round Table)
Note: I was probably spared the life of a drunkard for several reasons, the most important being that I saw so many ruin their lives and the lives of others as they came and went through my mother’s rooming house. So many! Being an analytical kid, I studied cause and effect, said uh-uh, not for me. Oh, I love my wine, have a cellar full, try to keep it well stocked in case the Big Drought ever hits. Fortunately, don’t see too many drunks these days, just read about them occasionally in the newspapers after they’ve crashed and killed themselves. Brother and sister, so it goes…
