Anonymous

We’ve traded in our bottle caps for tokens, burnt coffee smell, and hospital green walls.

We’ve traded karaoke for a captive
audience, each waiting to share
their own sad song.

The bread-winning mother fastens
down in front of the bathroom mirror
to reapply smeared mascara.

We’ve traded two stepping
for one, six, twelve steps to get closer
to God sobriety.

We’ve traded the barrooms for church
basements, and smoke breaks. Folding
chairs instead of cards.

The group leader decompresses, sits
in his car with the windows up,
counts his breaths backwards from ten.

We’ve traded shaking hands
for shaking voices. Absolute™
for absolution.

We’ve traded definitions; a socially
acceptable fix of nicotine, faith,
caffeine, vanity.

The ex-junkie makes small talk
with the born-again pilot about the
depravity of transgender.

We’ve traded the substance, but not the cause.
The lot empties slowly; bus rides
for the d-dub crowd.

We’ve traded addictions, but not behaviors.
We linger in the parking lot too long, fighting
the end, having to go home.

We’ve traded arbitrary for contrary.