Swilling With Pride

Drink your damned swill, my dad would yell. He thought it was funny. My sneaking it downsink was funnier still. I cough tepid coffee in his honor, burning at will. That’s nice, dear. We preferred your inspiring era. Put me on iceboxes with the rest of my pieces, mixed up and all out of aura.

Different man, once a friend. Don’t get started stickin’ quarters in him. Go-go juice, pallets of pellets s’all he needs. Listening to whispers, printing pantless pleats. I never wore the style of guys. Too much work and too many size. But I pretend to translate, which for some is fine. Or pour downsink. Your swill be done, not mine.

The spirits are changing the hearts of men. I draw with fingers and sculpt with pen. Lit the bruised banner, praise from a friend. Your swill or mine, I’ll e’er defend. World, watch my drain as it totters. Downsinking winds and even some waters. Torch it for gain, I’m stopping my reign. So little sense, until you have daughters.

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