Struggling With Another Sober Summer

I could murder a pint,

quaff a cold draught,

but the cask asks more

of me than destiny dares

to deliver – and my liver

laughs in the face

of a challenge. Denied,

my pride, striding

to perform as I go riding

on the storm; and decline,

purging the urging demon,

that clichéd ‘monster in me’,

preserving, deserving

to be free. I must be me.

I must be me.  I must be me.