Insert name here...

Looks me in the eyes and says

he wants to quit.

knows he’ll drink again

as soon as he gets out,

and as soon as he’s out

of range of me.

will i take him in to detox?

hasn’t eaten in four days,

grey as dusk, right before night.

sitting naked on the mattress,

its grey and greasy too,

no sheets, a blanket

pulled over his crotch,

a pile of steel reserve cans

next to the bed,

on both sides,

must be 400 cans

variously crumpled,

a mountain, an avalanche.

Is it the missionary in me,

standing there? it might be 

different this time. Usually

i sit but theres cans

on the chair, and

a fan. Will

i take him in today,

maybe i could make an iPhone movie?

he could be his own hero.

I can’t think of anything else,

would that help?

i’ll ask.

all i can see is this swamp

of life. and swimming

or walking

or talking

blur together.

eating, drinking, what?

in the face of it.