alcohol content

i hate to be a bummer

but the half-empty half-full analogy doesn’t hold water,

doesn’t work for me.

my glass is as dry as land during a drought, most of the time,

or filled to the brim not with pomegranate juice or refreshing h₂o

but with beer.

most of the time my cup is unable to withstand many clinks,

many toasts,

incapable of withstanding too much of a good thing.

& it reminds me, like a nagging parent, between gulps

that it’s easier to come across as profound when you’re blue,

harder to do so when you’re high,

when you’re less unhappy.

most of the time i find or position my glass on the floor

or at the edge of the table—internally hoping

for its majesty to be taken for a ride, to be taken for a bowling pin.

i am able, in the mornings, to pinpoint its exact location

after filing another missing child report,

paying for the privilege of lowering someone’s panties,

i am able to miraculously find it in one piece

at the bottom of some river, of the kitchen sink,

with all kinds of residue in it.

good old buddha is powerless against the likes of me.

c. a. campos, 2012