the quitting
by Geneva Olson
I see final swig of the milkshake,
feel it talk its way down my arm
hiss at it scorching my neck
and reach for the hounddog to pour myself another.
I think of how the minister screams
every time I let the alcohol rape me.
Then I look down at my feet,
swiming, holding the glass of peanut oil -
and jog at how these were the fingers
that should have sung you away from me.
But didn't. And I keep looking
why I took your flying, took your tomatoe juice.
I drank how you walked your way
through my knees. You listened to the stewardess
from the inside smiling, and the athlete kept running back.
I let the vodka dive in me, and now the girl has
smoked a hole through my shoe. I talked it.
Now I have to rid myself of the exterminator,
and my jump rope is kicking between the
tractors in the scissors nestled in my tooth.
But I have to look more. The trotting
doesn't wade as long as the janitor does.
the burning
by janet kuypers
I take the final swig of vodka
feel it burn it's way down my throat
hiss at it scorching my tongue
and reach for the bottle to pour myself another.
I think of how my tonsils scream
every time I let the alcohol rape me.
Then I look down at my hands --
shaking -- holding the glass of poison --
and think of how these were the hands
that should have pushed you away from me.
But didn't. And I keep wondering
why I took your hell, took your poison.
I remember how you burned your way
through me. You corrupted me
from the inside out, and I kept coming back.
I let you infect me, and now you've
burned a hole through me. I hated it.
Now I have to rid myself of you,
and my escape is flowing between the
ice cubes in the glass nestled in my palm.
But I have to drink more. The burning
doesn't last as long as you do.