Wilding

wine why my tastes tonight run

more for rye or whisky

my throat demands that burn fire

water which helps me forget my

world

wines for therapy not for forgetting

a night from wine put this mark upon

me

she pushed a cart across the street

from kohlmans liquor store on

seventh and dell

any boy with twenty bucks could buy

wild irish rose was in our eye

no none of us can forget

she looked like a witch and we

were mad our team lost the home

coming game

you know that was the biggest

thing in the times for years

our small town

never heard such nonsense

as what happened to her

in my dream gathered into place she

returns she segues into my grandmothers

face

like some monster sent here from there

a nightmare unable to end

what pack of fifteen year olds dehumaned

back then

would have ever thought

cheap wine so expensive would do that to them

---

J. E. Robinson's poem “Panaetius” appeared in J Journal in Spring 2024 and received a “Best of the Net” nomination. Currently, he enjoys retirement.