Love Left (To Hold)

He pours a drink
everyday of the week
as he awakes,
the hours and days blur
together,
he can't tell
Monday from Friday,
yet he always knows
when it's Sunday;
the church bells chime,
he keeps his sins sealed
inside his heavy head.

Black glasses shade his bloodshot eyes,
the sun shines too brightly,
he stumbles to the coffee shop
without looking up,
or out for himself,
reaking of booze and body odour.

The cashier can barely withstand
the stench swirling around him,
as if she could see it
floating in the air
like some kind of cloud
reaking worse than a garbage bin
full of rotting food in the summer heat.

He orders his coffee,
an extra large black,
leaves a twenty-five cent tip,
walks back out into the bright world,
horns and sirens sounding,
a couple agruing on the curbside,
he finds his way
through the crowded sidewalks,
back home where the bottle awaits him.

His door is left unlocked,
he possesses nothing of value
for a thief to steal,
except for the gold wedding ring
he wears around his neck.

There was a time in his life
when he was a loving and caring man,
wished for a family with children
who would play in the yard and laugh,
then all of the sudden his wife vanished
as if she was made of smoke and mirrors.

He couldn't understand why
she would leave without a reason,
a letter,
a note,
a word,
so he hit the wall,
the door,
the drugs,
the bottle
hard.

It's been just over three years
since he's seen her,
not a day goes by that he doesn't think
about giving up the bottle,
but it's the only love he has
left to hold.

Written by Clint A. Avery, M.B.B.A on August 28, 2014.