My Drink Of Choice

Over the last two years

I have discovered bourbon,

The good stuff. 

With, when I can afford them, 

Luxardo cherries.  

In  ginger ale.  

It’s my drink of choice

When cringing  in fear and horror

At the fanatics 

And their irrational hatred of 

Ineffective little me 

Because I am a Jew. 

It’s my drink of choice

When contemplating in surprise 

What I mean to them:

Either disdainful rich elite

Or feral rat-like destroyers. 

I am neither. 

It’s my drink of choice

When shouting in shul

At the name of Haman,

For all the good that does. 

Schadenfreude comforts 

But is not a long term solution. 

It is not my drink of choice

When I have no choice 

But to see truth

And then speak truth 

And for that I find

I must be sober.  Alas.