Poem: July 9, 2019

Pinot Grigio

I had this dream last night
in which I was sitting at
my desk which, of course,
is not my desk, (but who
can account for such things
in dreams), and it was early
enough that I was among
the first people in the office,
but Velinda, my boss, was
there peeking over the edge
of my cubicle wall to ask
a question, and that is when
I saw that there was a glass
of Pinot Grigio, still cool
with condensation, right
there on my desk, which
(I don't need to tell you)
is not allowed in the office,
and really, could not be
explained away; although,
dream-me made a go of it,
despite my own surprise
at the wine's existence,
there, on my desk, next to
the lamp, and even though
the dream continued on to
include many more settings
and multiple interactions
with a variety of people, I
woke up thinking about
that glass of wine, and I
thought about the story
Dad tells about looking
down at his desk one day
and seeing that he had two
lit cigarettes burning in
the ashtray, and knowing
in that moment that it was
time to quit. And that's a
hard thing because that glass
of wine looked delicious.