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