some things we don’t talk about
there are certain things I’ll take to the grave
I said as I raised my half-filled glass
trying to figure out
if it was half full before
transferring the past down my throat
to the grave the patrons chanted
swallowing what remained of their
bottomless dreams
contented by the friendship of
lonely people
unbothered by next month’s bills
morning arrives without a demon in sight
the truth temporarily impaired
allowing me to get on with it
as they say
and forget all over again
those things going to the grave
october two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
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