A Drunk

I wrote this poem & it’s one part observation & one part autobiographical. It’s been a long road but the monkey is off my back and has even left the building. I titled it A Drunk with a subtitle.

A Drunk

“Searching”

It is easy to observe
to criticize
others.

Like my brother
who gets so loud
and stumble
with all family
ro witness—

and he doesn’t know.

It’s the secret life of the drunk—
such a true
but harsh word it seems.

Does it matter that you start
drinking at 10 pm?
like my father did.

It’s only subterfuge
where no phone calls
might reveal your position
like a breathalyzer would.

I share in this absurdity
with my brother.

Yes I drink
to probe the
innermost thoughts of my mind
I drink enough for them to flow
as I type.

But does it make me better?
It’s just an excuse

But neither of us think about it—
the absurdity of our slurred speech—
the irrationality of your stumbling walk—
and the love our wives share
daily
faithfully.

Did we not get the memo from above?

The one said
He loved all
and the ones that loved him.

We don’t deserve it.
Is life really that bad for us
that we find nightly refuge
in a bottle?

I doubt it.
It’s a hard
habit to break.

So God help us
find the way—
help us find your holy grail
in the deep darkness
the hopelessness
of our soul.

And we need to learn life;
and love it—the beloved—like

life may end tonight—
like there is no
tomorrow.

yet
there is always
hope