if he weren’t in his own body,
he wouldn’t know who he was.
The woman he’s with
knows his identity all too well.
That’s why she’s trying
to drag him toward the car.
Then comes a moment
when not even her arm is enough.
He stumbles, falls.
It’s a jolt to her system,
seeing him like a dead man,
struggling back to life.
But he’s sinking into drunken torpor.
No way she can even budge him.
She would cry out for help
but that’s not easy
when you’re the helper.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Examined Life Journal, Evening Street Review and Columbia Review with work upcoming in Harpur Palate, Poetry East and Visions International.
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