and the game continues on

In the back of the van,
eight hours
into a twelve hour drive,
lurching through
rush-hour traffic,
in a city
I’ve never loved,
(nor loved in)

Pissing in a bottle,
not so much
borne of necessity,
but boredom,
counting down the minutes
until I can stretch my legs.

I hit the whiskey
I keep in my bag,
but I’m not trying
to get drunk.
(not just yet)

I’m trying to make
more piss
to fill
my bottle,
so that the game
shall continue on.