another foray into pseudonymity

My dad, mother’s father, dad’s mother’s father, my mother’s brothers and everyone whose lives touched theirs could’ve told you that

“We died of pneumonia in furnished rooms
where they found us three days later
when somebody complained about the smell
we died against bridge abutments
and nobody knew if it was suicide
and we probably didn’t know either
except in the sense that it was always suicide
we died in hospitals
our stomachs huge, distended
and there was nothing they could do
we died in cells
never knowing whether we were guilty or not.

We went to priests
they gave us pledges
they told us to pray
they told us to go and sin no more, but go
we tried and we died

we died of overdoses
we died in bed (but usually not the Big Bed)
we died in straitjackets
in the DTs seeing God knows what
creeping skittering slithering
shuffling things

And you know what the worst thing was?
The worst thing was that
nobody ever believed how hard we tried

We went to doctors and they gave us stuff to take
that would make us sick when we drank
on the principle of so crazy, it just might work, I guess
maybe they just shook their heads
and sent us places like Dropkick Murphy’s
and when we got out we were hooked on paraldehyde
or maybe we lied to the doctors
and they told us not to drink so much
just drink like me
and we tried
and we died”

from Drunks by Jack Mc source: http://www.sobermusicians.com/drunks.html

(This is just the first third or half of an excellent poem I first heard read aloud from a spoken word podcast, and is a big deal in certain circles I’ve heard. It’s very pro-AA which I guess would be annoying to some because AA is certainly not without it’s problems but it’s a beautiful, touching, heart-breaking poem and speaks to the good, community-oriented, mutual support, autonomous, people with a problem helping other people with the same problem aspect that saved my father’s life, and might have saved my mother’s father’s life if he ever got there.)