Monday, May 13, 2019

Whiskey Thrift by Ben Nardolilli

Have I spent my money wisely?
I guess that depends on your definition,
And better yet, on my own,
I have spent it knowingly, even drunk,
And even when drunk I get to see
Where it all goes in the morning
When the online account
Processes my procession of funds,
Ripe and withdrawn only after a swipe,
I guess I’m not fooled
By the newest thing, everything I buy
Is old, used, or else aged
In fine wooden casks for several years,
Barrels of burnt hickory and oak,
Whose ancient dark confines
I try to replicate within me,
As I move every dram of fire water
From those old chambers
To my gullet, prematurely aged







Ben Nardolilli currently lives in New York City. His work has appeared in Perigee Magazine, Red Fez, Danse Macabre, The 22 Magazine, Quail Bell Magazine, Elimae, fwriction, Inwood Indiana, Pear Noir, The Minetta Review, and Yes Poetry. He blogs at mirrorsponge.blogspot.com and is looking to publish a novel. 

1 comment:

Gerringong Cemetery. By Michael R. Griffiths

There’s a certain nonsense that disturbs the dead.     As we pile in,     exiled past the ablution blocks,     roused by the warm s...