Thursday, April 14, 2005

Dump Bucket Day

Three glasses of wine isn't quite enough to get drunk
Just enough to lift the attitude from gutter bottom
Into the cynical smiling state of defeat.
It wasn't good wine. And the last glass had
Fruit and sugar and tasted like a soft drink
Which made it easier to gulp when
I felt like a teenager
Crying over the thing anyone could have told me.

I'd like to call it crushed hopes, but that's too innocent
As if I didn't know exactly my part.
Got what I deserved and god knows,
You can pull the blinds on someone else, but
You can't hide forever from what's in your own room.
It sucks, and it sucks for all three of us, and what else can I say?

I sat in the parking lot outside the wine tasting
Listening to JT on the radio and tried
Just like the shrink tells me
"Feel it, don't intellectualize it."
So I held onto that snapshot for a minute
Of the two of you at the car, tried to breathe
But I felt it a little too much, and I had a date
To taste some bad wine, so I sucked it up and shoved it
Into my wallet, to hand in small bills to a shop clerk in exchange for
My tasting tour, cleverly titled "Dump Bucket Day."

A little too apt, that title,
Because that is just what I would have done
With those cheap tastes, if drinking to drink had not become my goal
It was sucky wine
So I drank fast, no lingering on the palate,
No fancy glass swirls or inhaling deeply into the nose
"Give me the next glass please, that last one was a little flat."
Thankfully, that's just how the wine worked on me as well.
A little air out of the tires, so now, all that's left of the pain
Is the small hollow sound delivered when you blow
Air in a half empty bottle
Knowing that it is going to sound lonelier,
The emptier it is.

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