Last night we spoke
About our dead child.
A whiskey slur stuck to the corner of my mouth
I tried to touch the moment with useful words
But I mistook finger movement
For
Conversation
You contemplated the idea of crying
Your eyes kept fluttering
The shimmer of a tear began to sparkle
A regretful shine
To the
Otherwise
Melancholy scene
Then
Silence.
Followed by your footsteps
I took to the whiskey
Till my knees shook
My footsteps became a challenge
A bigger challenge
Than remembering
When the morning came
I awoke in a puddle of vomit
I had to peel my face
From the floor
Scraps of discarded food
Stuck to my cheek
And I understood
Why God
Or Satan
Or Buddha
Or whomever
Took them from me.
A.j. Binash
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/you-get-what-you-deserve-3/
