He sits by the phone,
wondering who might answer.
Drunk again, he weaves in and out of awareness -
commiserating with loneliness.
Carefully plotting to get a willful listener,
he cries into his glass of vodka,
practicing his sorrow to avoid
the familiar dial tone.
This morning he was a man of
brilliance and insight -
the smartest I have ever known
Yet by nightfall,
his slurred recitations
and redundant belligerance
has stripped him naked.
He remains a has been -
an old, tired, drunk,
who lost his soul
to a bottle of illusions.
2 comments:
The poem very effectively conveys the feeling of despair and sorrow.
And thanks to your flashplayer, I have become a big Sarah Bettens fan. Thanks!
Writing this close to home is hardly an easy task, but it does serve as a medium for release. I empathize, whole-heartedly, with the daughter.
Been reading past poems, too. Oh I so enjoyed the one entitled "Lost." The candor and the approximation of sentiment are riveting. Cheers.
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