Whiskey Whines and Whispers

Whine.

Twangs and hoots give way to whistles
that dissolve into grunts and whispers.
Backstage at the Whiskey a Go-Go,
the young man mutters, growls
and then whines through the music.
"It sounds too slick, somehow.
She's too sure of her next whiskey bar!"

Bonnie's babe is plump with ashy hair.
It whines as the wrong mother feeds,
smoothes back his son's light curls
and whispers, "I'm sorry."

Used to be when someone whined too much,
she called him on it (and the one beer,
or two wines, or half a dozen whiskey sours),
but she can't think anymore.

Whine.

At Twilight Manor, she feeds her grandfather
one last bite of ham puree, then wipes
a bit of green gelatin from his whiskered chin.
"So, do you think the problem lies
with the man or the whiskey?"

The old man blinks his rhuemy eyes,
shrugs his slight shoulders and coughs.
His voice, once clear and strong,
now wheezes and whines.
"In England men of letters drink wine...."

The man whispers to himself.