On Doctor's Orders

Two glasses


A tulip bowl filled,
Overbrimmed with luscious
Deep crimson stuff,
A rioja or cote de rhone.
It doesn't matter, it calls,
The siren of the glass sings,
She lures me.

A straight tumbler,
The slow cocktail long gone,
Filled with tap water.
Muddied, the fruited scum,
Filthy corruption,
Empty vodka bottle, squat,
Gloats in alleged purity.

And I have to make a choice.
The sensible one…
Or the path to oblivion.