Against Relapse

Al Maginnes

Drunk at ten in the morning, said
the man at the table behind us,
as though it was something unusual,
as though he had never swayed
at the starting gate of an aching new day,
seeing only chalky gray flat
before him, his blood too weighted
to move and tasting the need
to light it up or shut it down.
It’s clear he never thought it was
a good idea to dance in the office
of his ex-wife’s lawyer or to sing
“Blue Moon of Kentucky” on a bus
filled with people going to work
and busy with cell phones, briefcases
and coffee cups. He has forgotten
he could have been me or anyone
thirsty and confused enough
to need the day’s possibilities reduced
to one. Some afternoons I play
hide and seek with my daughter
in an old graveyard or inside
the labyrinth of a used book store,
hoping she will find as I have
a love for quiet places. But I don’tRead more »

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