Scotch Neat

The coldest rain that falls on autumn’s morn
Has settled deep into these tired bones,
When chance would give to me a tavern’s grace
To drown the cold and silence all my groans.

The kindest woman came to wait on me,
She asked, “what poison do you like to taste?”
I said, “the taste of love is far to weak,
Perhaps a glass of scotch to warm with haste.”

She poured an amber drink into a glass
And set it down in front of eager thirst.
Aroma rising greets this forlorn dust
Enticing all my nerves to be submersed.

With countenance alight, a smile bore;
She said,”today will be a lovely day.”
Her subtle laugh, I took another sip
Then said, “the best indeed, I have to say.”

And then, outside beneath the coldest rain
I light a cigarette and take my leave.
With warmth of scotch still tracing all my veins,
I journey down the road with my reprieve.