II: The Mid-Winter March

At twelve when I woke up, the ground was dry.

Around one, it started snowing.

By four, the roads were slush

and the town was hushed.

When I went to the liquor store at 7:12,

the streets were filled like store shelves

Waning silhouettes

limping like zombies

towards the liquor store.

The mid-winter march

of alcoholism

like the stalwart journey

of the emperor penguins

in the freezing wastelands

of Antarctica.

I go inside and

get my fifth of vodka

pack of cigarettes

bag of peanuts

and say my prayers

at the counter of clerks.

The sky

falls to the ground

in the muted silence of

a winter’s night.

• 2009