Monday, January 25, 2010
Dial-a-Bottle drunk...a delivery man walks up wooden stairs. Jim Beam in brown bag; coin falls from shaky hand. Who's left behind? Dark apartment, life inside as empty as a bottle. Government man, besotted, sorrowful, drowns in sightless pain, the torpor of an intoxicated dream. Who do you leave behind, Delivery man? Delivery boy. Work your way through college, minimum wage, gratuity from impaired souls. Lonely. Angry. Middle age hurt. Ahh, but in contrast you sail through life. A joke or two to share with callow friends. But a secret deep inside is for you to despair. What of me in many years? Wooden stairs? Darkened apartment? Father drops coin from shaky hand? Dial-a-Bottle drunk calls a name.