I say I worry about her 120
Her 20/20
Her coming home in the evening, pouring a glass
And crying over the past twenty
Or so years
Gone quick as glass
Golden but weak.

She says she can't trust
That I won't get violent
And belligerent
Waking up in bus depots and shouting down phones
Alternating into coughing up whatever words available
To make her understand how much I hate
Everything.

And she gets it
She says
Sort of
The same way I get it
A little bit
I guess
But she worries about my drinking
And I worry about her drinking
And we don't know where he is
Or who he's with.