Liquid Gold

Vintage liquor in corroded boxes,
with dusty bellies and fermented toxins.
Fine-aged wine and whisky and brandy,
Flowing off your tongue as if it was candy.

I take a sip to feel how it burns,
Thick like oil and petroleum.
But as I sit I finally learn,
Perhaps I should have stuck with opium.

You'd call it Liquid Gold if I asked to see,
With booze-heavy breath and rotted teeth.
But as I drink and sip and chug,
I understand how alcohol was your drug.

Through drunken hazes and eyelid-heavy gazes,
I wobble out the front door, past forgotten faces.
I've become just like you, my father so dear,
and I remember a time when that was my greatest fear.

But as I hobble along the fog-ridden street,
I cannot help but feel you might want a drink.
So down goes the spirit, made from golden grain,
I pour it, I pour it over your grave.

Liquid Gold.