Dad drove down
to the liquor store
that morning
the same routine

bought two bottles of
the cheapest red wine
money could buy
to drink from cheap
plastic solo cups

he never drank
from blue cups
just the red ones
not sure if that even
matters

when Dad drinks
he goes to one of
two extremes 


either he’s grinning ear-to-ear over
something utterly 
mundane
or else 
he’s
spewing equal measures of
spittle and venom

but no matter what
his breath always
smells like death

when i was a kid
i didn’t really get it
why a man would drink
and do such stupid ****

of course
that was before
the world taught me
what it meant to suffer

you never really realize what
tragedy looks like
until you get home from school
on a Wednesday afternoon

to find your old man
wasted
crying
begging
you to tell him it’s
gonna be okay
that he’s gonna make
it another day

like watching
god become human

so i promised him

i swore that it’d 
be
okay 

but i had no idea

if it would ever 
be
okay 
again

my Dad lost his Dad 

that was why 
he drank so much

at least 

as far as i can tell 

that was the reason


why

i’ve never really asked
and besides

i doubt he’d ever 
admit it

least of all
to me

but as i get older and 

reflect 

i’m not sure there 
was
ever really a reason 


why

he got sober 

did the 12 step program 

hallelujah

thank you 

Jesus 

something like 
that 

and he hasn’t had 
a single sip 

since he sobbed 
in my arms 

that Wednesday afternoon

at least

as far as i know