A Whiskey Picnic

Ain’t no grapes and ripped bread, we sip whiskey instead

We drink and dream of casks and caskets

On a whiskey picnic you don’t need no basket

Two shots for the road lightens the load

But five or six And you’re really fixed

On highways and byways we walk the train tracks

And forget the way back

Our voices rattle and chain down whiskey lane

As we sing a song it carries us along

Our whiskey picnic ho-down Feels warm on the way down

That corn wine flow don’t lay us low

Whiskey picnics don’t end when you got bottled friends

Our throats washed in gold, it never gets old

On outdoor dinners we’ll fill our jiggers

And toast God’s barrels, sing whiskey carols

Whet our lips and kiss with candor when our blood’s half amber

We forget to speak and fall asleep

Lay our glasses down on leaf and ground

Whiskey picnic roll-around

We wake for swigs, hair full of twigs

Slurred sweet nothings that pluck our heartstrings

My bottle’s yours, we break only for pours

We’re star-crossed drunks, we raise our cups

To getting’ frisky: Cheers, darlin’, here’s to whiskey.

By Gillian South Goodman