On Alcohol
my first drink was in my mother
my next, my bris. doctor spread red
wine across my lips. took my foreskin
•
every time i drink i lose something
•
no one knows the origins of alcohol. tho surely an accident
before sacrament. agricultural apocrypha. enough grain stored up
for it to get weird in the cistern. rot gospel. god water
•
brandy was used to treat everything
from colds to pneumonia
frostbite to snake bites
tb patients were placed on ethanol drips
tonics & cough medicines
spooned into the crying mouths of children
•
each friday in synagogue a prayer for red
at dinner, the cemetery, the kitchen
spirits
•
how many times have i woke
strange in an unfamiliar bed?
my head neolithic
•
my grandfather died with a bottle in one hand
& flowers in the other. he called his drink his medicine
he called his woman
she locked the door
•
i can only half blame alcohol for my overdose
the other half is my own hand
that poured the codeine that lifted the red plastic again & again &
•
i’m trying to understand pleasure it comes back
in flashes every jean button thumbed open to reveal
a different man every slurred & furious permission
•
i was sober a year before [ ] died
•
every time i drink i lose someone
•
if you look close at the process of fermentation
you’ll see tiny animals destroying the living body
until it’s transformed into something more volatile
•
the wino outside the liquor store
mistakes me for his son
by Sam Sax
(Listen to the poet read this poem, courtesy Poetry Foundation)
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