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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2241832-Its-Five-OClock-Somewhere
Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Biographical · #2241832
For some; it's a party call, a refreshment, tons of fun. For some of us, it's a dead end.
Eve was tempted with the apple,
gave it to Adam, winked her eye,
and the phrase was born then and there,
“It’s five o’clock somewhere”.

Many enticing temptations bedevil mankind.
If one doesn’t find you first, it isn’t the right time.
My late husband, so cool taking a drag, only fifteen.
His lungs never knew the dangers of tar and nicotine.

Media ads, guy’s dream, a blonde prize offers a cool dark drink.
Promises in short dress, long legs, sultry eyes, a sexy wink.
The 70’s played to women coming into their own.
Just pull out an “Eve”, cute, huh? You bring loving home.

Ever looked at a bar menu? One picked special for you.
Taste buds tingle; raspberry, chocolate, mint, almond, honeydew.
Mix with some 80 proof and you have a romantic scene.
Dim lights, soft music, willing partner, no room in between.

Young, ready for a party, most of us have partaken.
Some people don’t realize their genes are already taken.
Special ones; Kerouac, Lenny; addicts waiting to pop, sip or inhale.
Addiction waits, a black widow spider, scheming to kill her male.

I love being a rebel, an artist, not going along with a crowd.
Classy loner, crawl into my den, a slick panther, so proud.
Walk along, quite a show, photos of my life, I've learned.
My family, claims exciting fire eaters. If not extinguished, we burn.

All beings are creatures of habit, most a positive harmony.
Flashing lights if it costs you; friends, lovers, paycheck in a company.
The party has come to a stop, no more bar dates after work.
Goodbye to Simon Sez; a tranquilizer, pick me up, "I'll feel better!" perk.

In a place down the road, coffee’s crap but you find true souls.
A hug and hello, look deep in their eyes cause the real you, they know.
All you have to do is listen, a "truth" fortune teller speaks.
Find a sponsor, then "come back" every day of the week.

Thank you to Bill W. and all of my friends.The door is always open.
Looking like I been run over and dragged by a truck, stink like a skunk.
An angel in torn jeans and tattoos pours hot coffee, guides shaking hands.
I am home, a close call, spill my awful truth, I am part of a beloved band.



By Kathie Stehr
Jan 14, 2021
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2241832-Its-Five-OClock-Somewhere