I slouched blinded to taking the first step.
Slinked into rooms to get a woman back.
Couldn’t envision life without drink. Kept
silent in last rows, huddled like a sack
of empty beer cans, wracked bones crinkling when
I’d flinch at an offered hand, wary of
eyes like Christmas candles, suspicious grins,
voices chiming bullshit like let us love
you till you can love yourself. I didn’t
stay long. A few miserable months. Slipped
on slick peel of fear, slid on old resent-
ments back to my neighborhood sports bar. Whipped
down six quick O’Doul’s, kidding myself. Then
came Coors, Black Jack. Of course, blacked out again,
tumbling inside craving’s endless turbine.
Roger Armbrust
March 4, 2010
