If you read
the written record
of his failures
out of context
you'll miss the point
he's making
and assume
the count is final.
(Final was the morphine
his mom kept in the fridge
that hospice had delivered
when his grandmother
was dying.
Final was the story
that he swore he'd never tell.
Final was the way
they all looked
over shoulders
when they realized
that to stay with him
they'd curse themselves
to Hell.)
There are far worse things
than lonely.
Only sinners learn to love.
He wears and shares
his stumblings
whether with
or without whiskey.
When asked
to sum himself up
in a solitary word
the rambler
doesn't miss a beat--
"Resilient" bounces back.
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