By Sara Clancy
She’s back to the bottle again,
after an early fever that gambled
away its taint on a sucker’s bet
that the bulldog at her throat
could be traded for a nice coffee
hour and the gospel of advocacy.
No easy calamity volunteers
itself on her behalf this Sunday,
it’s the rest of the affable
congregation that crowds her corner.
So tuck that remedy in your glove
and pin up your hair, girl. Your flask
and those abalone inlaid combs
are in the tin under the stairs.
From now on this epidemic should be
all sarsaparilla and Saved By Grace.
Copyright 2014 Clancy