Day 2

This is ridiculous.  Idiotic.
Why do I have to prove anything
to them?  “Them” who?
The intervention crew, these AA
attendees, whoever else thinks
I have a problem.  Fuck ‘em.
Yeah, I’m sober,
and it’s not any better.  My skin
doesn’t quite crawl, but it’s like
my blood has turned to icy maggots
that squirm through my veins,
make it impossible for me to sit still,
to hold my coffee without spilling
and staining this shirt that Mom got me
for Christmas.  No, I don’t want to talk
about my mom.  I just mean
I can’t run out and buy another
exactly like this.  I’d feel bad
if she knew I’d stained this shirt.
Okay, enough.  Hi,
you still don’t know my name,
I’m still sober,
and I can’t wait for that drink
in 88 long days.

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