Burying the Bottle

I'm burying this bottle
next to childhood shame,
pornography and suicide.
Next to sparrows on windshields and
fathers, unconscious and bleeding.
Next to the old puppy,
wrapped in a blanket,
on its way to the vet.
Next to unfaithful mothers.
Next to bright futures and
a bleeding heart,
dripping down a sleeve.

I'm burying this bottle
with the epitaph:
“Here lies a roller-coaster
with too many g-forces
from too many loops
and too many neck-jolting turns.”

I'm burying this bottle
until I need it again.
Or until you are thirsty.