We lived for the
next drink; the elixir to
erase the memories of
a thousand cruel dawns.
It took work when we
were broken and bedraggled.
Creativity and thirst drove
us through the day.
“Do you have anything to pawn?”
“Hey, why don’t we stop by the
old carnival guy’s place, he’s
always good for a belt.”
“Big Brenda will you give you a
10 spot to go down on her,
are you
up for it?”
The shit we did to stay liquid smooth.
We redeemed cans for nickels, It took
hundreds to get a bottle.
In and out of dumpsters filled with
the most vile trash imaginable.
Me and those aluminum cowboys,
knee-deep in the filth just to
get a drink.
Winter was bad, frostbitten hands and
hearts, but summer was worse.
Something about the way the sun
cooked the trash had a hellish putrid
effect on the soul.
That smell was the seed of my
sobriety.
Aww, to have that smell linger in your mind. Good write
Thank you.
Powerfully penned, Thomas. Being an alcoholic has levels and rabbit holes, only problem is trying to navigate through the quicksand that one is slowly sinking in. Excellent write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thanks, my friend.
I never had a desire to drink but my mother did. I guess some people are prone to addictions then others. This is a gritty down and out poem, but always interesting when coming from your pen, Thomas.
Real, raw, treacherous, daring. Awesome!! Love this piece!
I appreciate you.
Thank you, Tim.
Thank heaven for that marriage between the sun and that trash .. Write on brother .. Neville 😎👍
Thanks, my friend.