Back to the FIrst Step

I lie to my sponsor and shrink.
"Sober and sane and sleeping
eight hours a night." Truth is I am
starting to rev into high gear.
Six loads of laundry: suds, spin,
fluff, fold, and three finished lists check check
check. I skate my moral edge with how-to-videos
(that do not really count as porn) and
the cunning delusion that if I move fast enough
I will never again fall that far.

I bought my Big Book half-price and heavily highlighted.
There were four on the shelf. What happened to
the original owners? It is not the kind of book
you ever finish. Death? Disillusion?
Or perhaps they wanted a new start,
a fresh binding, a new chance to
underline the most powerful words;
those lines that make me want to let go,
call my sponsor, confess to my shrink,
take my polished rock into the woods
and plead to the Power,"Take this weight,
take this weight I am not as strong as
I pretend to be." But not tonight.

Tonight I want to stay up too late,
believe the lie, I can handle the high,
that this time, this time will be different.

I scratch "John L." from the edge
of my Blue Book. Sharpie "Charlotte W."
Shelve it. I think I want my own.
But not tonight.

~