A Too Plain Verse

Occasionally I wonder
What it would be like
To have a bottle of beer again
For reminiscence sake.

It’s now been almost twenty
Dry, evolving years
Since last I lost my head with drink
And woke up flush with fears.

I hardly even miss it —
I like sobriety —
But now and then the call comes in
That maybe it’s for me.

Maybe just one bottle,
A schooner, a pint, a glass,
Just one will be enough to make
A stalling evening pass.

It wouldn’t be just one though —
Could it be just one?
Surely by this age the chance
Of wantonness is gone.

Am I too old for wantonness,
Too aged for excess?
There’s one route of discovery
Which could end in distress.

So I’ll forego the notion
Of a bottle without fuss,
And for another day at least,
Remain abstemious.

Feb 9 2021