“I’m not an Alcoholic.
Alcoholics go to meetings.”
(She walked away into the night
words left to hang and float
ashes in a starless sky
She tucked Her faded coat
about Her frame like a dying light
leaving nothing but her parting oath)
He remembers a distant First Hello,
a laugh, a smile, many drinks ago,
Her eyes in the light of neon’s glow,
scent of a woman He had to know.
She curled into his arms, bottle in hand,
seduction of mind and heart, unplanned,
a moment in time like dew on a strand,
Her every wish was His command.
Nights into days into nights once again,
wealthy as lovers, paupers as friends,
a bottle when empty - just microscope lens
when One chooses Means, Another the Ends.
Her name in His paper this cold, Sunday morn’,
memories return as if just being born,
still sees Her alive standing outside His door,
Her last words to Him echo so loudly, once more…
“I’m not an Alcoholic.
Alcoholics go to meetings.”
Author notes
Written May 15th, 2006
What did you think
Comments
1 - 8 of 8
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Excellent poem
Kind of reminds me of my little sister.
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this reaches within those sad echoes falling within the cracks...
yet in the back of your mind make you realize those simple truths that are forver told.
Yes I've known a few these people myself...both friends and family.
Keep me thinking!
Bill
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Good use of sibilance and speech. Nice use of brackets. Keep writing, I liked the narrative here.
Thanks for your comment
All the best
Pozo -
Great
Wow...this was very real...about a very real problem and a very real pain and struggle. I say this is a good one. Im thinking of coming back. Hope all is well.
-J. -
excellent writing as usual but still thinking
You are not an alchy. Sometimes I think I am but then I don't wake up craving a drink every day...only on my bar day which was Thursday but is now on Wednesday because I like the bartender that works on Wednesday. I still like the Thursday bartender but, like my drinks, I feel better when I switch off once in a while, if for no other reason than to keep things interesting. Plus there are different people there on Wednesday than there are on Thursday except for a couple little old men who sit at the far end of the bar and they never remember me from one week to the next. Not sure what that says about me or them.
Oh the poem. What was I saying?
Desiree
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Long time since I left a comment on poetry of late LOL I kinda forgot how to do it. Hard hitting Ann... sometimes we can't see the forest for the trees so to speak...
I like this, the structure of it is very well done too.
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only recovering alcoholics go to meetings....the others usually end up in sundays obits.....this is sad....the reality of it is all to harsh....too "real"...it's hard sometimes to look inward...after all it's dark in there....and hope doesn't make a good flashlight....when the batteries are dead....
great write ann...as always...as only you can....
Peace Abel -
This is so very sad...a painful write indeed I'm certain. I had a friend once who used to enable me to continue on with my own habits. I bought something off of him one afternoon, told him to take it easy on himself (he had looked terrible for months) and I got a phone call later that evening that he had died of an overdose. So terrible to think that I had just seen him that afternoon and that he was gone so fast. I later forced myself into recovery. If this is a personal piece, written about someone that you knew then I am sorry for your loss.
The poem itself is incredible. The ryhyme is absolutely splendid...I myself can barely ryhyme at all. Best of wishes to you...
-Shae Lynn-
Edited on May 15, 5:37 p.m. because ''.
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