Tonight, again

I keep the rum
in the back of the cabinet
because it tastes like pain.

The beer tastes like poker
or dominoes;
the wine like the children
have gone to bed early,
and the dishes are done.

The rum pours into any glass
when I shove aside the amaretto
(which tastes like romance)
and the sambucca
(which tastes like history),
clinking the bottles
to draw the rum
from where it has been banished
since last time.

paper boat

come aboard my paper boat
because today I am a captain,
and tomorrow we may be swimming again.

let's not talk of expectations,
let's not talk of dreams.

instead feel the breeze off the water
and the sunshine on your hair.

are we riding up the well
of broken history?
or the river of despair?
perhaps it is the ocean of loneliness.

it doesn't matter right now -
because right now
the swells are beneath our feet,
and at this very moment we are dry.