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Click here"Georgie Boy, you ain't dead yet,"
Midnight to eight
Mission man said.
Sure as hell he thought he was
Twenty times in jail or Bellevue
When he wasn't begging
NYU or Stuyvesant,
But jail was a bad boy
Half his age whose cock fight
Left a ghostly sight
Of red eyes pummeled black.
"Death of the Hired Man"
I thought, paraphrasing Frost:
Closest thing to home he had,
And they had to take him in.
It stopped at twenty-five.
"Five years now," mission man said.
Hasn't touched a drop since then.
Georgie Boy still ain't dead.
Worst drunk in town when I knew him. 39 admissions to the State Hospital which was where they detoxed then. One day he became sober and stayed sober. I am forever surprised and amazed at how indomitable the human spirit can be.
I love your technqiue in this piece, the obliqueness of it. The subject is just so sad.