Is it my sense of despair?
Alone, in a bar, late afternoon.
Is it the six pack,
sitting on my lap,
as I watch you drive?
The bottle, too heavy to carry alone?
My children, do they know me?
What has been promised?
A second chance?
Fresh air breathed into my lungs,
and a foreign land on my tongue?
It may just be,
this great big prize,
is bugs pouring out of my mouth.