Scotch Whiskey Wet-suit.

I soaked my wet-suit,
in Scotch whiskey,
a dead man’s trick,
that my Mama taught me,
a plastic beach pail,
and two fifths of Bell’s,
to numb down the fear,
and drown out my tears,
that’ll send me right back,
out there to the swells;
A Scotch whiskey wet-suit,
weighs down heavy, it’s true,
heavy enough to snap the strings,
to my perceptions of reality,
and the trick behind the trickery,
is to find the shore eventually,
a return that’s most likely,
not destined to be seen through,
if the body in the wet-suit,
doesn’t make a toast to me.