A few strong sips turn into a few cups.
I am unaware of the present
Or present company.
In my mind’s eye, I see the stepfather
Of my mother, the frail screen door
Slamming shut, him stumbling in,
With Crown Royal on his breath.
He wears his addiction on his face
Like a carefully constructed mask.
Change falls from his purple pouch,
As he mumbles to himself and takes
Comfort on his favorite chair. I smell,
Grandma’s pound cake baking in the oven
Mixed with the scent of cigarettes.
Granddad walked to the liquor store every mourning for them.
Outside beer caps decorated the curb,
Like abandoned Christmas ornaments.
Next door, the pit bulls chains against the post.