White Russian

I sit somewhere.

Between joy and sorrow

Mixing White Russians in my mind,

I’m never sure where that is

Exactly.

Hope?

Despair?

Good?

Evil?

It’s like tipping one back

At church.

Exactly.

Faith?

Works?

Wrong?

Right?

She sits beside me.

Stirring her own

Fancy Umbrella drink

She says,

“Rest.”

“Relax.”

“Just.”

“Be.”

“Exactly.”

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