August 8, 2010

A Guided Tour of Hell

by Alan Catlin

"Sometimes hot sauce was the only
way I knew I was alive."
--Michael Connelly

Drunk on Stout and wee lads
of Irish whiskey: the Black
Bush, Tullamore, Power's,
Jamie and the boys, all the dead
soldiers of an armed conflict
with the unseen, boggy nights of
smoke, the landlord's face the last
sight I would see before the fall
and after, lying back down in
sawdust and ash, three quarters of
my way through a liquid guided tour
of hell, the blessed isle, a drink for
each county taken, until the weight
of it all dragged me down and I could
no longer separate the people from
the light that awaits me at the end
of this long, dark tunnel I'm sliding
toward the end of.


Paul said...

I like this poem and the one that follows too. Bravo to you, bravo to dead soldiers, bravo to all ...

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