to put all my arrows away

i didn’t drink for six months

even now, i can’t drink the way i did

when you were still clocking in at the restaurant

the whiskey carried nothing stronger than its contents

now the spirits, amber or clear

sit differently on my tongue

every nightcap is a rerun

of you sitting at that god damn bar

the cops calling to tell me they found you

a man with your face crying in my office

everyone we knew went back to that bar

you fill every bench seat

every bar stool

every bottle

i’ve never gone back

the bottles at home are the same