Misty Blue Eyes by Peter A. Witt

Radio plays a sad Willie tune,

the kind that mists the eyes, knots

the stomach, causes the world to spin

until all you can do is sit down and cry.

Drink, the alcohol kind, doesn't help,

as sad becomes welded to my chest,

I drink anyway, old habit, as cat curls

in my lap, purring as if he cares.

Commercial for a Kentucky bourbon plays,

a call I can't resist, two fingers to chase

the sad, as Elvis sings of heartbreak

and hotels, a place I've been many times.

Evening ends like all the others, man

with a country voice plays hours of Loretta,

while I sit, misty blue eyed, drinking the bottle

two fingers at a time, cat purring in my lap.

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