“You’re pretty.”
“You don’t drink a lot.”
“You know your place.”
“You’ve got plenty of time.”
“Your ‘clock’ hasn’t started ticking.”
“You’re smart enough to know better.”
Am I?
Am I smart enough to know
when my time is up,
when my clock has stopped,
when my youth has run out,
when my sobriety
is a reason not to drink?
Because maybe I’m not
all that pretty,
and maybe I’m running
out of time,
and maybe my intelligence
went down the kitchen sink.
“You have your dignity.”
No, that ran away with the spoon.
A Troubadour's Compass 