Shirley's been hanging around a lot lately.
I wake up in the morning and she's in the kitchen
drinking her coffee black with one sugar.
Mid-afternoon she's out on the smoking porch
drinking coffee cut with bourbon.
I told her to use the rotgut, with coffee that strong and bitter
no one could tell the difference, but she
insists on the good stuff, won't touch anything but Bulleit.
In the evening, she's back watching the eleven o'clock news and
Jay Leno, feet up on the coffee table, with cup after
I can no more turn around
