What'Ll It Be? Poem by M. Bloom

The human soul
Is but the drink
Of the broken man
At the bar, sinking
in his golden therapy.

The half empty
Flask goes flat
As he grumbles
About his lack
of love and luck.

But he drinks it off
Through his spirits,
And though he
May not appear it
he's like all of us.

For when the barman asked,
'What'll it be? '
He could've asked
For anything
but here he is...

...Again
Enjoying his routine
Drowning his sorrow
With apathy
and, despite all his strife,

Makes one of yet another hundred
thousand toasts to life.