Prohibition

 

Air saturated with that breath,
I can nearly see the molecules
intermingling. Your

liquid meal does
all the talking,
all the denying,
all the asking that a man could

conjure.
Let’s put all that sickness
on the table. Still
when the morning turns blue
the crimes evaporate by noon.

The alcohol turns
that ink invisible
makes it more than
conceivable, but probable,
and absolutely
necessary.

You were never sorry
for digging a grave in the middle
of the night, only sorry that I
always fell into it, but even that
wasn’t enough for you to

let it go.

I turn off my porch light
and lock my door.
Your headlights bounce
around my walls. The night
becomes the kind of quiet that

carries every sound for miles.
I can almost hear you swearing.