“A Lost Battle”
 
The unopened bottle sleeps in my cupboard
and waits for a bad day to help me
dream of nights; the same shade
as all the days
we tell ourselves were victories,
while listening to music
and whisky conquer the ice in my glass.
 
I, drunk as a general about to order
thousands off to their deaths
as part of a gamble I rationalize as a war
that was over
long before my first drink.
 
The rest of the world another Switzerland,
offering enough aid
to keep its neutrality
with clean hands
and so many metaphorical mountains
making it safe from me.