Sun-soaked palms are rising in my mind
Against the red of jagged barren slope.
Ice-cubes, a dash of bitters, lemon rind,
Fill up with Scotch -- the only way to cope
With unrelenting hourglass of sands
And daily chores. The steady downflow
Leaves not a single opening in hands
Of mortal souls bereft of saintly glow.
Eternal vanity abides in human breast,
Far stronger than a heavy fix of dope:
The carrot of tomorrow's blissful rest,
The glimmer of a glitzy packaged hope,
Lest we remain content with daily bread
And let the deadlines bury their dead.
Forget the bait, calm down and relax.
Reach for the gold and not for all that glitters.
...A heavy leather chair with green brass tacks,
A lemon rind, ice-cubes, a dash of bitters.