The Cheapest Rum In The Store Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I like to buy the cheapest rum in the store,
Is what I told her,
But there was no special meaning when
I took the liquor in between the money
Behind the tent, behind the car:

She was already pregnant,
And these are the things I mean going out
To get the groceries along the ancient,
Torpid highway—frequented only by tumbleweeds,

When there is nothing left in the house,
And high across they have built swifter intestates:
When I should be moving away from the indecision,
My father’s recklessness, his faith and determination
To give up on all things,

And I say all of this before I have by first shot,
And when I do it welcomingly burns—
To let me know that I am not yet in a coffin,
And outside there are so many creatures with
Nothing to fear, because we are sure it should
Never flood again.