Toasts from Issue 88
To the last credentials we have:
bottoms up.
Cheers to the skipper. Be a sport.
May your enemies put
an address plate on a dog house,
or something less useful than that.
Down the port.
During a nap
may you put in a brief appearance
in heaven and discover
they’re making a better heaven at last!
May this wine bless the sunlight
that kissed its life,
and for every toast you raise
may the one you love toast you twice
and not her husband.
And may the secrets
that chew like termites through every human heart
lose their appetites.
And may the long corridors of jokes
not even once silt up for you.
And may you never be in a position
to milk a snake,
or to let the devil hold his campout with your barbecue.
And when you are naked
may you excite speculation
rather than simple tolerance.
And may you never be ashamed
of your happiness.
And when nettles fly into your mouth
may they turn into wine,
and may you drink
until you’re conscious.
