Drinker
One summer I tasted fine wine
From a local winery
I drank what was mine
And also my company’s
I enjoyed every glass
Both the white and the red
Though they all tasted the same
as the guzzling went to my head
I tried to pace myself
And I did fine for a while
Until with no real reason
I hurried and lost my style
Fellow tasters knew I was different
And not cut out for the art
Where their palates were delicate
Mine was cold and hard
I left the winery
And stopped at the liquor store
I bought the cheapest made
And drank a dozen more