Alcohol speaks in a low voice, swears this
won’t happen again, will say anything to make
the listener believe, up to and including fooling
itself, telling anyone within earshot what it
thinks they want to hear, it goes on like this
for a long while, almost pleading, hoping someone
might feel sorry, feel pity, not betrayal or disgust, no,
but there’s something else, some other voice, more
human, some part that isn’t dead yet, alcohol turns
round quickly and sneers in its direction, its clear
how this will play out, morning sun enters the room,
making shadows, a telephone rings, the situation continues
in this direction, until it can’t possibly go any further.