I walked into the liquor store today
To buy myself some gin
And I chanced upon Mr. Ammons
Buying a bottle of Southern Comfort

Mr. Ammons
I said
And he looked up at me
I saw your piece of work today
So lovely, housed in the city
And Mr. Ammons only looked at me
Blankly and unanswering

So I continued
Hoping to spark his interest

But I've seen it many times before
Though I cannot tell you where

To this Mr. Ammons spoke
With bitterness

You may have seen it
But you do not understand it

With this he turned his back to me
And pulled a grubby twenty
From his pocket and gave it to the cashier

I left the store soon after
Gin under arm, feeling so affronted
Finally returning home
I walked slowly up the stairs to my bedroom
Opened my closet doors
Found a small box in the corner
And lifted the tattered lid

There I saw it inside
So much smaller than I remembered
But there
And I realized to understand it
Was to not understand it at all

The re-closing of the lid
Brought so many memories
Memories that tore at my insides
Begging to be relived
But knowing their wish impossible

With a sigh, I poured myself a glass of gin
But, soon realized
That it was Southern Comfort