Sheep totter, suggesting they will fall
Off the precipice and into the fire.
One ram stops them.
Shrewd, beside the gold poppy seeds.
No one moves a glassy eye.
Red Wine
Red wine, murky, muzzy-headed,
Pitch-purple-blackness.
Dive in,
Dive in,
An ocean is waiting,
A wave of tummy warming aromas
Hints of currants and oak wood sail by
As a smile forms, and storms fade,
Until a mudbank hits
And the bottle lies empty on the shore,
Its label torn, illegible.
Nothing,
But a lubber-legged, wobble-headed wine drinker
Fretting in a chair all at sea.
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