Midnight divides a man
one self from another
scotch from the rocks I am
on a wheelie chair at the kitchen table
listening to complaints
we go like this ‘til 3 am
It feels good don’t it
New Years and nothing’s changed
stone angels in the backyard
doorstep with its pile of snow
and I love how delectable
the hours become
an open fridge and everything inside
expiring turn up the lights
tell me again how we look
recognizable despite the years
how no amount of wine
will ease our sobriety
and I’ll tell you
the world is loosening its grip
on the revolver it holds to its head
any day now the sun will come up
like icing everything donuts
and coffee