Life and soul
When she lived with a drinker
she learned to spot when their focus had shifted
to an internal, eternal happy hour.
All senses vigilant:
smelling sour spilled stuff
hearing a booze-fat tongue
feeling the shame, inevitability of plans awry.
Then, no point in making them in the first place.
But still there was the power to shock
A lie so bald it’s breathtaking
A stash when she thought she’d found them all
The way she bargained with herself – thinking magically –
and found a way to put up with it for a little longer:
Things might change.
Things didn’t change.