Similar to, but unlike her father, depression drove her to drink-
The spirits of its caffeine were better than any she'd ever seen
him down in a cold, hard, glass.
Some days called for a special
like a tall, skinny, extra caramel mocchiato.
like those bourbons on the rocks he'd sip,
staring at nothing but the windowpane of a lonesome, dreadful, house.
The similarities between a shot of espresso and vodka were emblematic.
The difference was this:
her Starbucks was a form of legal, addictive stimulant,
whereas his liquor should be banned forever and all eternity.
For while she drowned her sorrows with a double-shot vanilla latte,
at least she was alive.