Friday, March 25, 2011

Barely Alive

Barely Alive

He stumbles through the door
Coming to see me
Driving from afar
Barley able to see
Not knowing the pain he felt now
Would be so much more
I listened to the slur of words
Pouring from his core
A flash of memories
Spirals through my head
Wondering how it became this bad
“He is lucky he is not dead”
I whisper under my breath
Not knowing how true
Those words would come to be
Wishing he had a clue
Hours went by before he was able to drive
Promising me he would go right home
He took the bottle from the backseat
Never expecting the chrome
To collide with a tree
Not aware of the glass in his hair
Unable to understand where the blood was coming from
He fumbled with his phone
Blood smearing from the gash on his thumb
The message that came
Was a disjointed mess
Fear ran through me
Knowing what he wouldn’t want to confess
The mistake I made by letting him go
Thinking his promise
Would hold until tomorrow
Knowing how much I abhor
Drinking and driving
With luck he would live
With the police arriving

© Christie Cote
March 25, 2011


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