Last Rioja

My last rioja, cellared since the spring
And ready, went down smoothly. Short of cash,
I had to finish what's left in my stash,
Which isn't worth much. Almost everything
Is gone, because she had a glimmering
Of how our lives were turning into ash,
And left two geisenheims and one grenache
When she returned to Mother's cosseting.

I'm finished with this portion of my life;
This is the place I stop and draw a line.
I opened up the other Spanish wine,
I traded in my bus pass for a knife,
Left eighteen cents in pennies for my wife,
And marked time while I waited for a sign.