My Drink Isn’t Clear…

Just a simple metaphor,
On a Friday night,

Watching the ice cubes
Fight for survival
In my drink
On this warm summer evening.

No small task
For those ice cubes,

Heat and humidity,
Damning their opportunity
For survival,

And leaving
My drink,
None the worse,
Other than the dilution
And transition to
A different
And weakened state.

And so,
My life.

The bourbon
To maintain its persona
On the brink
Of disillusion.

But maybe,
That’s okay.

Maybe that transformation
Is appropriate,

And quite frankly,


The more this drink
And I commune…

The more I understand,
What is right,
And meaningful
For my life.

Tough decisions
Need to be

Don’t they?

Funny how life
Serves moments
Of clarity,

With the aid
Of truth…

Facilitated by
An adjunct,

By an equalizer…

Perhaps this drink…

So in the moment,
Of melting ice,

And translated reality,

I finally understand,

What I need
To do.

My drink is not

The bourbon remains mahogany,
Even in its new life,

And yet,
This drink still
Suggests to my mind,
And to my heart,
What is necessary.

My drink isn’t clear,

But it provides
A certain clarity, for me…

And prescience,

For a way ahead.

© 2018 W. C. Stacia, Jr.

13 thoughts on “My Drink Isn’t Clear…

  1. (Bill) … I do hope this is simply your muse speaking. If so, tell muse to focus ‘On that warm summer evening’! There are soft calming whispers in the breeze! Always breathtaking lines in which you deliver so candidly!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks so much Myth! Maybe it was a little bit muse…and a little bit reality. So…as you suggest…I’ll try to focus on the calming whispers. Really appreciate your thoughts!


  2. It made me smile that you found poetry and deep insight in your drink. Love it. 🙂 I’m already so addicted to your poetry: love at first verse. 🙂 (That’s not flirting with the man, to be clear, for that crazy fangirl up there in those other comments…)

    Liked by 1 person

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