Derelict
Jeremiah Gilbert
When did you take your first drink?
Was it on a dare, to fit in, or did you
have a darker desire? It preceded
your family (why did you have them?)
and your career, if that's what you
want to call it. Your eldest son tried to
follow, but the shots of your existence
had yet to burn his lips. Do you
remember the beatings you would
give him and the presents after?
Or the gun held to his infant head?
Whose crying were you trying to stop?
His son would grow and never see
you out of your recliner, a fifth
of something concealed in its folds
as you sat before the pyramid of
ruined televisions watching war movies
on the small, flickering set at the top.
When you lost your leg it seemed
a futile sacrifice--why take from
a man what he doesn't need? Is this
why you never lost your bottle?
