How to Drink Yourself Sober - Chapter Eleven: A Vision For You

Alex Stolis

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Slivers of light, the creak of stairs, windows
sealed shut from years of disrepair, neglect.
My childhood was one of mirrors, of wonder
ing what might happen next. Cigar smoke,
the smell of beer and whiskey. Sticky bar
room floors overflowing ashtrays. Walking 
up and down between heavens. Path littered
with sounds from a scratchy juke, no sign of
god anywhere. Light footsteps, stolen kisses
in a bare bulb hallway. Twisted pop tops cut
bare feet; smiles always lingered a bit longer
in summer. There was sand lot and thick air,
pigtails and worn leather. Empty foundations
were war zones, the wild wild west, uncharted
islands. We created new languages, liberated
apples from trees. Pedaled as fast as we could 
away from our future.