feast
the plates have more space at the table now, the bellies more food to be fed. take the extra chair back to the basement. i filled it with air anyhow. my absence will be spoken of now until christmas but i gave the early gift of self back and the easy truth is i love me more than you. this hurt has been aging unlike the depth of wine you drink. you skimped the wallet while i nurtured the vine and now that i’ve grown to season i’ll never allow you to take my vintage away. you’ve the cushion of elbow room but i’ve the expansion to grow. i’m grateful for every one of you, don’t take this the wrong way, no matter how truthful the anger sounds. but when the beacon beckons one must go. the soul has transitioned and it’s only a matter of time until my body finds home. slather the white meat with gravy so it won’t stick in your throat. this thanksgiving alone i’ll swallow the clear of my booze with ease.
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© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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'From My Front Steps,' 'Scotch and Scars' and 'A Distilled Spirit' poetry collections available in paperback and ebook on Amazon.
