beneath the sink

her father
would hide
his liquor beneath
the kitchen
sink. he'd
tuck a neat
pint or two
of jim beam,
or old crow
safely below,
between the
musty shadows
of wet pipes
and buckets,
grey rags.
and when he
decided to
tip one towards
his dry lips
you knew. he
was either
singing or
there was crying
in the other
room where a
hole was in
the wall.