Red Wine

You hand me two bottles of wine
And say, "Which one is older?"
I study them closely
But the years are scratched off
And I am frantically spinning them
To find some small difference,
Something to satisfy you.
Why does age matter at all?
Both bottles are green,
Both wines are red,
And you demand to know
Which is the elder?
Tasting and searching and spinning
Still there's no difference
Yet you pressure me to determine
Which wine is older.

I lie flat on my back
And balance the bottles on my eyes.
Now I see the years
Now I see the difference.

Excited by my discovery,
I hold out the aged bottle
Screaming, "This! This is the one!"
You snatch it.
I think you will pour us drinks
But there is only one cup.

Anger rises to my throat
As I watch you empty the bottle
Into your glass
Rouge streaming down the sides.
I watch it slip away from me
And the other bottle crashes to the floor.
I raise my hands and shriek
Why does age matter at all?