Whiskey tipsy, slightly dizzy.
Swirling, chanting, wispy for
Daddy begged,
don’t go drinking.
Quit the binging. Quit the
whiskey. He’s not here to steal the
liquor. Just me. Just my
liver. Empty stomach, gorgeous vomit,
psychedelic rock n’
roll. Three cheers for Jack
Daniel’s and birth control.
The walls are alive
with bass and lights.
Alive as the wraith
of daddy’s vice.
Wraith whispered wae
into mother’s wame
the dame’s hollow shadow
still sings me sorrow
to this day
Wraith taught me to surrender
sober senile trifles
to the support of sins’ sanity
Sensitized me to silhouettes cigar smoke
safe sex no safety
and steamy sacred serenades from
dipsomaniac nymphomaniacs
in the land of no self-control.
Black out or back out
as she used to say to daddy.
Blackout or back out,
only cowards back out.
Daddy’s wraith
sings,
hold me when I
drink.
Spins me about until
I’m floating.
Coasting
beneath strobe lights,
blue, purple, white
but all I want is the black
out over her shoulders
no need for closure
blackout or back out.
Blackout or back out.
Black. Out. Or.
Back
Out.
* * *
Gem Blackthorn is a Hispanic poet from Miami, FL. She studied creative writing at the University of South Florida, where she was co-editor of HerCampus USF and editor-in-chief of the Creative Writers’ Club. She’s currently an editor for Contraposition Literary Magazine.
Contraposition 