Escaping Alcohol
(Previously Published at The Writers Club)
The mood darkened as the moon
stretched full, and the stars
applauded misery.
I despised dive bars so much so
that I was on a stool
in a crowded dive bar.
Most times, I’d sip vodka over rocks.
It’d burn, but I’d swallow it all the same.
I suppose it’ll only change
when I stop drinking.
Dad gave me the habit.
It was all the bastard gave me,
and I’d cling on to it.
It’s gotten me this far,
which isn’t saying much.
I surfed channels on my brown leather sofa
and saw a message about Jesus.
It made sense,
so I prayed and asked him
to bring a good woman into my life.
I was tired of sleeping with random women,
and I was tired of being tired
of fearing commitment.
And now, I’m alive.
The bartender speaks,
but the hard rock,
pushing through the speakers,
distorted his voice.
A red blinking open sign
in the large tinted window
didn’t explain what people
opened themselves to.
Alcohol killed dreams
and tore families asunder
but the poison lined the pockets
of divorce lawyers.
A judge will tell you when you can
or can’t see your little girl.
The clerk provides you with an order
specifying how much to pay,
and a restraining order
to stay away from the mother.
I wouldn’t know because I don’t drink.
Not anymore.
I smiled when Lauren pushed through the doors
with a tan cardigan, and her long, dark hair pulled behind her ears.
We met at church five months ago and came to her parent’s bar, which doesn’t serve alcohol anymore.
They served espressos and Red Bull, chilled or hot.
Lauren intoxicated me with her red, luscious lips.
We kissed, and I bathed in a pure high.
Twitter — @AC0040
(© 2024 AC)
