How much would Hemingway and Raymond Carver,
Bukowski
and Oscar Wilde
scoff at my sobriety?
"You gave in and gave up, at 28?"
The words I'd then write
for these old dead white guys
about wanting to get better
about trying to be sober
about working a program
C'mon man...

In my defense
they didn't have Oxy cottin
or Xanax
But
they also didn't have central air
or auto-correct

So for my old, white,
dead drunken heroes
Who most likely
wouldn't like me
I'll hold my white privilege close
to my heart
At my core I'll be angry with
women
I won't look to jesus
to beg for forgiveness
Most importantly
I'll hold onto the truth
that statistically
I'll end up drinking
myself to death
at 50