It hadn't been in stock for months.
I'd like to blame the absence
on a vineyard strike in Portugal
but could such a feat exist?
It was probably a shipping glitch.
The truth could bore to death
and does.
You see it in their gaits.
Tonight seemed like the time.
There'd been friends
though they were gone.
There'd even been a woman
two nights prior
though the verdict
was still out.
There was a week of work ahead
and a head to clear to face it.
My favorite brand of red
seemed the only sound solution.
The cork felt weak when pulled.
I poured a quiet glass.
The first sip broke my heart.
The second sealed its fate.
Buy enough wine
and it's bound to happen.
A "Friday after lunch"
that leads to a loose bottle.
Somewhere in Iberia
a drunk had done me wrong.
It swirled down the drain
like quite expensive vinegar.
Sometimes wines, like women
sour second times around.
Sometimes men are stubborn
and crack a beer instead.
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