He found God in a frat house, waiting in line for the bathroom.

Christ, if I were any
younger and less apologetic
it would've been a drag
to lie and say I liked myself
but I still did
and did and did
and did them right
and wrong at the same time
and tried to out of town.
I'd gone to see a buddy
at school in central New York
where the rolling hills of Route 88
can almost cure a hangover.
We drank canned beer right
through the night
and well into the morning
giving up somewhere along the way
on doing and doing and doing
since the only likely takers
could eat their weight in pasta.
Besides, those nights of feigned
brotherhood meant more somehow.
All was fair and just in our world again
until it came time to claim couches and pass out.
When I came to in the morning
or rather, I should say
when the sun so rudely pierced my lids
there was a desert in my insides
past the dustbowl of my mouth.
I went to the kitchen in search of hydration
but the fridge was void of beverages.
I'd never been one for the Hair of the Dog
morning drink cure, but I would've tried it then.
The next bet was the tap water. Taped to the wall
right above the faucet was a sign written in marker
that warned not to drink the water. In those days
six years ago I was not yet a plumber with a thick skull
a knowledge of what can and can't hurt you
and the immune system of a soccer mom of three.
Needless to say I heeded the warning; back to the
fridge it was. And there, somehow shinier than upon
the door's first opening, was my salvation:
a half-gone jar of apple sauce, expiration date still good.
I pulled it from its place on the shelf, twisted off the cap
and sucked down its sweet, thick liquid without taking time
to close the refrigerator door. It was manna from heaven
in the hungover hell I'd created. It was the most satisfying
swallow I'd taken, or have since then, and it saddens me
to think that I'll never be so sated again, literally
or otherwise. The empty vessel posed a problem: put it back
or throw it out? But the beauty of not being the home team
is the ability to sneak out the back door and turn over your
engine-- which I did, and headed back to face a Monday
of warehouse shipping blues. That may have been
the last time for me. Since then it's been a read-through
in a language I've forgotten. Are there any tutors left?