Poem: Mim's Gin

like a flemish still life

     placed

    on the bed George made

    there stands a space of wood that the mattress has provided,

    a bottle of Mim’s Gin,

    bought from Wal-mart,

    placed there like a girl in a pirouette,

    softened by the color of Ticonderogas and sticky notes,

    torn up pieces of magazine, the dried cuticles of fingernails,

    a stained tumbler resting on the side;

    placed there to become there a flemish still life,

    a framed design of cheap, store-bought beauty,

    so it is not moved,

    when tidying up the room,

    but stays there on the edge of the bed,

    half-full;

    their contents — says the voice in your head —

    are to be emptied,

    to drain a hundred miles of frustrated tears

by Greig Roselli

PDF Copy for Printing