Babe, the first time.

My teeth chomped down
on what was left of a
refrigerated pear;
I wish I could say I had it for you now.
Fresh produce had been
a common recent theme
appropriately rejuvenating.
Turns out it's still ticking somewhere.

The excuses were droppin' like flies
like dead ants down the drain
from half-killed beer cans
poured into the sink...
Or maybe they were piling up
like empty rum bottles, dirty jeans.
Regardless, it was good to be there in that kitchen
even wearing workboots and a grin that ate unmentionables.
I hated the fact that I'd have to change my alarm clock again.
Hated it with a passion that sometimes I'm scared I've lost.

Alcoholics Anonymous defines Insanity as
"doing the same thing over and over
and expecting different results".
This is fine. Let them.

I tend to abstain from such rigid diagnoses.
We remember the watched showers in ICU
and who the crazy ones really were.

The relationship, whether or not you want it, is this:
Hope can drive a man...well, you know.
At least that's what Red said
before that broad rolled his car on him.
Almost serves him right for playing for the wrong team.
Yes, the wrong team is whichever one I'm not currently on.

Old souls we are
but it ain't so bad.
I'll keep my trick repertoire the same.
No one could handle a new schtick anyway.
Not even a second chance in the form of a perfected clone.
It's not my fault I only run in my head.
In? From? Who's keeping track anymore?

Maybe just my mother, and clandestinely.