right amounts

The rain sounds like someone
impatiently drumming their fingers
on a countertop,
and I feel like that someone.

I have this book of poetry
that screams it’s made
for nights like these,
but I also have enough money
for the right amount of whiskey.

So I’ll be that someone at a bar
and the rain will be everywhere else.
You’ll be the empty seat next to me,
and I’ll think, “Yeah, home is nowhere else.”