Bed and Breakfast

by Rich Kenney

The register clerk eyes us with reservation, examines our Hancocks; tells us to behave or we can tuck in on Main Street's sidewalk.

Despite allergies to the underclass, he sniffs out inebriants; discovers the mother of all buzzes on Overproof, outlaws him to winter and mint-free paper pillows.

Wed rather bed down in the boneyard, but all souls shiver at six below. When spittle glaciates, you promise anything in Salvations kitchen, even dry runs to the wagon in return for Danish and souffle.

After sunrise benedictions and watered down shots at sobriety, we swallow words of honor, chase blessings with beer and a host of higher spirits;

one more day to sip on each others' condolences, one more day to chew on when I grow up mythology