It Ain’t Whiskey by Dino Tripodis

It ain’t whiskey.  Call it soul juice or conscious wine.

But it ain’t whiskey.

It’s a silent debater that starts and ends objections,

And if invited promises fitful sleep if staying the night.

It warms the blood, but chills the logic.

It’s a pain soother, but at the same time a pain enabler.

But it ain’t whiskey.

It shouts.  It cries.  It whispers and sometimes…it chuckles.

At the obvious left unattended.

But it ain’t whiskey.

It understands misfortunes.  Celebrates occasions.

Confuses the issues.  Clarifies ignored truths.

The last drop of it can be a period at the end of a chapter,

Or part of a sentence that needs to be continued. 

But it ain’t whiskey.

You think it calls out to you, but no…

It’s simply been waiting .

And when its emptied, its work is done.

So now it’s nothing.  Or maybe it was everything.

But it ain’t whiskey.