I’ll have a Cubra Libre,
No Coke, no ice, lime on the side,
The man behind the bar gives me a skeptical eye,
But he complies.
I settle a long slow sip on my tongue,
let it slide down my gullet,
A comforting warmth in the pit of my belly.
They tell me this is courage.
See cause tonight,
I’m gonna write.
A rhyme, a tale, poem, sonnet, novel,
That will wet the sides of any reader’s pillow,
No matter how jaded.
It will encompass greatness,
I’ll touch a quintessence somewhere no matter how guarded.
A web will be spun,
from my spinneret pen,
Come into my parlor,
Tattoo my verses on your psyche,
All will be in awe of me.
Sip two, sip three,
This is bravery,
That this shall be well received,
Embraced even, by the many,
Sip four through six,
Sip ten, bar man another fix,
and then it’s morning.
And all I’ve written is another piece that sounds just like me.