To An Inebriant

I cannot be caretaker to you self-medicated, altering perceptive fields by choice seeking to numb the pain, escape mundane routine circumvent natural boredom that could instruct straight life is as subtle as a babe moving its lips while sleeping or as blatant as a car accident somewhere along the line you learned alcohol makes it better conditioned yourself to raise the glass swallow hard, empty one can and reach for another go for the gusto pound 'em down order another round bar talk eases the anxiety you hang back, play it cool offer a guy a quarter for a cigarette so he'll give it to you for free feel superior to the other glazed-eyed patrons think yourself the better fool I look in your face and wonder why you dabble in the stench of stale beer and vomit the confusion of blackouts and hangovers risking another incarceration when life offers pink rose buds, apple strudel, and the smell of rain when your family's at home waiting for the sound of you at the door and when solitude feeds the soul more truly than Budweiser ever could I have not walked your path I know little of its ways except through vicarious observation, countless morning after confessionals pledges and promises of change if it yields more reward than sobriety then you have chosen well if not, you have chosen your own blurred vision of hell