At psychologists urging swore off hard liquor
in favor of becoming a cultured wine snob,
Merlot tasted like graphite, herbs, blackberries, black cherries
none of which I liked,
Chablis was all citrus, pear, minerality, and salinity,
which reminded me of drinking fruited dishwater.
Zinfandel had a spicy kick with a smoky body,
which reminded me of my ex-wife,
Pinot Gris was all fruity with lime and pear overload,
better off eating a cup of rotting fruit.
I swear I tried, cost me $11 a glass,
after which I swore off being cultured,
dumped my psychologist, returned to drinking
in favor of becoming a cultured wine snob,
Merlot tasted like graphite, herbs, blackberries, black cherries
none of which I liked,
Chablis was all citrus, pear, minerality, and salinity,
which reminded me of drinking fruited dishwater.
Zinfandel had a spicy kick with a smoky body,
which reminded me of my ex-wife,
Pinot Gris was all fruity with lime and pear overload,
better off eating a cup of rotting fruit.
I swear I tried, cost me $11 a glass,
after which I swore off being cultured,
dumped my psychologist, returned to drinking
Bourbon on the rocks, neat,
with fellow recovering wine freaks
at Joe's Hard Times, no wine served there.
with fellow recovering wine freaks
at Joe's Hard Times, no wine served there.
Peter A. Witt is a Texas poet, avid birder/photographer, and researcher/writer of family history. He started writing poetry after 42 years as a university professor as a way of recapturing my storytelling and creative writing abilities, skills he'd lost in the stultifying world of academic writing. His work has appeared in several online poetry publications including Rye Whiskey Review, Fleas on the Dog, Open Skies Quarterly, and Active Muse.
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