I think I'll name my first-born daughter Whiskey:
Not Rachel, not Elizabeth, not Jane,
But a name like firewater, smart and frisky ---
She'll learn the calculus of raising Cain.
When Whiskey laughs, cathedrals will collapse
And tiger-lilies burst through desert sands:
No prudish word will ever stain her lips,
No milksop touch defile her lively hands.
Whiskey will play guitar. She'll sing like Janis,
Each raw-nerved note a blessing and a curse:
She'll leave you weeping by the second verse.
She'll be a handful, a carousing menace:
She'll grow and blossom with unblushing grace
(And if a boy gets fresh, she'll break his face).
Poetry by Thomas D
Read 212 times
Written on 2020-06-13 at 14:07
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