Tag Archives: alcoholism

20 Years Later & Still The Fuck-up Deadbeat Alcoholic Father Of The Year

I knew that I fucked up
as soon as the money was gone
and I finally came crawling back to the motel
hours later
wasted

There she was standing
outside of the door -my baby
my little girl my
sweet strong sentinel.

She was crying she was so
furious that it made me want to
cry
and take everything back
all of it
ever.

“You said you were going to change…”
She shoved me and I
stumbled back and over a parking curb.
It might have been slapstick funny if it
wasn’t so damn pathetic.

“But look at you, same as always. The funny thing is
that I wanted so badly to believe in you. It’s all that
I ever wanted and you couldn’t even give me that and I
can’t do this anymore.

I just simply can’t
so if you want to keep drinking and killing yourself,
well here.”

She lifted the half-empty bottle of vodka I had stashed under the bed
and threw it at the ground.
It smashed so close that I felt shards of the
broken glass
sting my face.

“There you fucking go.” She said
and then her back was turned and she was walking off
toward the night highway-
my baby girl,
my sweet strong angel.

I tried to get up but the gravity of everything
was all off and I had to crawl over to the wall
and once I was finally up I started hoofing
the door to my room.

“FUUUUCK!” I screamed, kicked it harder.
“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!”

Some asshole opened the door beside me
spit out his cigarette and said,
“Christ, Old Timer, keep it down.
She was too young for you anyway.”

“Oh, go to fuck.” I replied.
“That’s my daughter.”

I stumbled into the room
slammed the door
and started looking through my bag
hoping that she didn’t find those little
airplane mini bottles of booze I had
wrapped in my underwear.

There might also be some left
in the baggie I shoved
behind the toilet.

I hoped to God there was some.

I wasn’t anywhere near
sober enough
to handle this.

And I wasn’t sober at all.

The Ghost of the Bottle Lingering Around Like a Bad Spirit in an Empty House

Right now my tongue
is an insufferable monstrosity
fattened
and trapped
inside of a dry cave.

The shooting pain between
my ears
doesn’t know where to go
so it just expands
outward
into a Godless oblivion.

I can feel every inch of my slow death
like a man clawing
at the door to Hell
to escape the cold.

I didn’t realize
that bottle of wine
was this much
my enemy.

So I must spend some time
lying face down
upon the ground
to let the Earth
continue to mercilessly
roll over my petulant body
as my foot hits the leg
of a rickety table that
creaks skeletal laughter
echoing with
surprising acoustic
across the cement walls
of this endless garage.

Maria! Maria! Oh, God no…Maria!

We were driving back home on the freeway
doing about 180
both drunk killing tall cans by the minute
trunk stuffed with crushed empties.

Fuck the world
is what he said when he picked me up.

He had just gotten divorced
by some Maria down in Cuba and it was fresh
so often throughout the day
as we laid back on the beach
he would raise his bottle and shout
“Maria!” but it was more than that
it was more like: “Maria! Maria! Oh God no…Mariiiaaaa!”

I suppose those were tears leaking out of his eyes
filled with pain
but I couldn’t see straight by noon
and when we actually left six hours later
he was too drunk to not completely burn out
of the parking lot tires spinning
right in front of a cop who
immediately pulled us over.

“Maria!” He cried. “I’m so fucked.”
“Just be cool and we’ll be fine.” I lied
and got out of the car to start casual small talk
with a cop that was curt
no nonsense all business
what a bore
but he did let us go with just a warning
and my friend started driving away
while I was still half out of the car.

To this day I am completely amazed
that we didn’t get nailed for that
as before we even got out of the cop’s sight
he was already driving like a seasoned maniac
off his meds
with complete disregard for law or life
as I continued to swig back tall cans
wondering why I did this to myself
one maniac after another
because I was a maniac magnet
they come in all forms
cute and cuddly
marauding and malicious
doesn’t matter
they will find me
and turn everything into
what the fuck
in a matter of minutes.

I’m not surprised anymore
I just drink
and the last thing I recall
before arriving home somehow
was pissing in the middle of a busy intersection
with the car idling across somebody’s lawn.

Six months ago
he sent me a photo of himself
all sketched out on blow
surrounded by monkeys
with a terrified look on his face
when I asked him how he was doing.

lately I had received another photo
of him clasping the hearty tits of an
old five-dollar hooker from behind
with the message:
“Merry Christmas from Cuba, Motherfucker!”

Yeah, well Merry Christmas
to you too,
motherfucker.

Maria!

Christmas

What are we celebrating Christmas for?
And do you believe in it?
Really?
Because all that I see
are people tired of the malls
and their families
that would be thankful
for the days off
if they didn’t have to deal with either.

But me
I like the flashing lights
so bring on the
and the fruitcake.

And Rudolph’s story
that’s pretty good too.