Antimony

It is a poisoned chalice
that we raise –
but as we toast each other's healths,
and chink
our fragile cups together,
let us praise
the nation we're creating
with this drink,
as we beget a finer race
 of men
and draft its customs with this
alchemy –
eternal Friday nights
of swirl and churn
of wine and air in this
antimony.
We sink a cup to purge what makes us
sick,
and sketch out shapes of Empire
on the floor,
in splash on spreading splash of pink
on brick
and blanket; wine and bile. Landlord,
one more!
One final shot to get
 under our skin.
Sorry, gents, it's time.
Better out than in.