Sheila Stahl

 

Liquid Flight

 

Red and yellow, black and white,

Are they precious in this sight?
On the rocks and in a tumbler,

With a twist and splash of thunder.

Tangled tongues spin foolish yarns,

While others dribble, donning darns.

Multi-cultured mind erasers

Dial the flight plan: Dim, endangered.

 

Higher, higher, higher fly.

Deaf to life and dumb to death.
“Just one more,” they say again,

As if a loop without an end.

 

“Hit my friend again on me,”

As if a favor…doting kin.
Vision blurring, balance lost:

Automatic Pilot Sought.

 

Quiet all those voices blaring,

Voices past and present rearing.
“Hit the road,” they muse and wonder,

“…more at home to put us under.”

 

“Dignity, at least was kept,”

Within a sieve while slow, it crept.
One more drink and one more night

Was one more time forgot in flight.

 

 

 

 

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