It wasn’t hard
To go from drinking with friends
To drinking alone
The drinking was the constant
Never the company
The bottle was forever calling
Unlike friends who soon stopped
And unlike those same friends
It never looked askance
As I tilted it for the fourth or fifth time
They never said anything
So much for good friends, I say
They just looked at me quizzically
And gradually went away
But the bottle never left me
At least not for very long
I could always count on it being there
Tall and comfortable in itself
Never feeling the need to make idle chatter
Or ask if I wanted something to eat
Just turn me up and pour, it purred
Whenever my glass ran dry
Yes, it was some lovely times we once spent
This tall brown bottle and I
And how it now haunts my nights
That lovely bottle of rye