The Final Drink
And on the table stands a glass
by Herbert Nehrlich
he could not raise his arm to reach
then God had called for him to pass
his cheek, the colour of a peach
had trembled, covering acrylic
his nose, now pinched and with a sound
that was both frightful and idyllic
his life now fading, losing ground.
The glass still stands there, to this day
she wipes there, weekly, for the dust.
It is engraved, reads 'Love You, Ray',
he was a man of drink and lust.
The Jack has turned to caramel
perhaps she would when it was time
and God would ring for her the bell
just take the glass on her last climb
when they would re-unite in Hell.