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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required “Small Addictions” bit by bit the hunger begins, the time when everyone, it would seem, is giving in to those small addictions inevitably they become your sole purpose for living, your entire self turned inside out, those small addictions inevitably grow they leave you on your own, vacant of purpose, tank on empty, considering the cycle of things, the vagueries of a life, it would seem, eternal, on repeat, for wasn’t that the place where the small addictions left him, sitting on the back steps quietly contemplating, each dark night, sucking on his Erinmore, like a child, an adult, chewing on his pipe, considering the inconsiderate larger scheme of things, double entry, questioning the trial balance, of a life where he once was, the smaller addiction, disgarded toxin, relegated to an army home with their strange staunch jangling tambourines with the others, lost small addictions seen but never to be heard, the begotten forgotten, still waiting for the collection, small addictions children passing the plate, forever waiting, warily watching, the joyfully worn false dispositions of the strange others' terrible, hidden, abnormal addictions; a pew away from it all seated on the sidelines seated still, seen but not heard segueing with military precision to the welcome routine, his mission with his small anglican addictions 1, 2, 3, in all, kneeling benedictions on the hard surface of it all missing the 4th always there never seen, yet still heard morning prayers for mourning, the Sunday joi de vie, of it all, a church full of Glennie reprobates and loose arabs one and all “Thurday’s Evensong!”, he admonishes jovially during the return drive, while they argue little bigger things in the back seat of the old Austin, on the way home running up the stairs, following the procession of harridans, those loud rambucious terrors, he laughs and shakes his head, left alone with it all, he yells, slamming the safety screen, with a terse scowl, “home is not a tent! close the ruddy door!!!” listening, then debating rivetting conversations round table over a hot pie, steak n kidney, quartered into 4, with his most adored small addictions, daughters now again seated for the time being orderley and well behaved by the side of him, copies repeating poetic verses, miniature white prayer books the hymns loud and off-key never up for debating sacrifice and largesse two very separate things atonement, the plate is passed each small addiction in a straight line, now before him concentrating, most sincerely, the etiquette and history of tying Windsor knots ne’er a noose around a man's neck ironing shirts and school blazers packed lunches, found days later ne'er eaten, buried underneath the house small addictions concentrating on the larger external, questioning internal things, the purpose of everything, awake and listening to him, every now and then, he wonders, if at all they’ll remember what he’s said, take it all in, if it’s enough to feed his small addictions avidly open to better futures seated with him on the side lines, listening perplexed to the good reverend’s sermon blood and water, seen but never heard 1,2,3 and a promise to the too swift departure, kept with 4, in her gentle words he and his small addictions blood and water seen but never heard (LadyLabyrinth / 2023) vcb, ljb llb, klb, mlb "blood is thicker than water..."
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