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the beer in the bottom drawer a bottle sits on the cabinet shelf the fluid level low it’s taken down each night with care the chaser close in tow lovingly it’s handled and its presence much admired and never is he too busy and never he too tired but in the fridge another bottle’s in the bottom drawer it sits and waits for him to come and open up the door it longs for him to hold it and speak kindly with a smile but he only seems to notice it every once in a while it longs to be as special and as needed as the other the beer in the bottom drawer is me and the liquor is my brother |
Additional Notes:
In my family, if you weren't the firstborn male, you were usually not seen or heard. Primogeniture is the term and its still very much alive and well in the south. I remember growing up when it seemed my brother could do no wrong, and I was always in the way. My stepfather was an alcoholic, and drank bourbon back then. I can still see him reaching up there every night, taking the bottle down, and how he would talk to it like an old friend. The beer in the fridge was for those next-day hangovers when his stomach just couldn't couldn't handle the hangover, which was every week or two. All lower case reflects how small I felt then, and the lack of punctuation signifies the endless continuity.
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