I drain the cold bath
I'm in, and drain the glass
bottle in my hand
both filled with a dark liquid
I watch the last swirl of water
struggle to get through
the rusted drain

why am I in this god-awful
motel

I know why

I have addictions that drove me here
Drove her away
Drove my hands
to smack my children
Drove these tears
screaming down my face

I make a list of things to blame
and exclude myself of course
but what does it matter

What does this poem matter?
I don't actually have a family
I don't have kids
and I don't even like to drink.