Laundered

A laundry list of who knows what,

A bottle of heat I pack near me,

An ounce of Crown, from which I drown,

Without the accessories

A man like me could surely starve

Two glasses, fancy and convenient,

One for me, the choice without holes I prefer,

The other is for whoever answers,

The invitation, unopened and on the counter still,

Three tomorrows in every shot

Each future looks the same

At face value,

Before

Four strands of hatred in that voice of yours,

Judgmental and misunderstanding

The words I’m labeled, not only direct but very telling,

In spite of their offensive, I do not resort to yelling,

Five nights it is, condescending tones I’d miss without,

Six…Seven, eight nine,

Children’s joke, Get’s them every time,

Ten, Eleven……Can a fool enter the gates?