The following poem was originally written in 1994 when Tequila was my poison of choice. It was edited on August 3, 2022. I have been sober for eleven years this coming September 11.
Image by Michal Jarmoluk from Pixabay
wake up/if you can
rolling over/from one dead
day/into the next
your mouth
a dirt filled trench/
shoveled with/bad vices
an empty fifth/evidence
the gold bottle cap/spilled
across the room/
the stained paper bag/
at the edge/of the bed
your aching body/aching
screaming/
STOP IT/YOU’RE KILLING
ME/
tequila gold/
burning fire/
drunk maker/
liver sodomizer/
what a head/ache
you’ll wake up/
if you can.
9/24/1994
Antonio Ruiz is an ex-junkie-alcoholic, former seminarian, one-time radio host-producer, past community organizer, continuing to be a media advocate, retired television reporter, ex-commission executive director, once a street vendor of jewelry and gloves, waitron (waiter to you), a former bartender who drank too much on the job, an ex-motorcycle courier who learned to ride a bike just for the job, ex-airport shuttle driver, former Entertainment news director-producer, the best time of my life, one-time live TV events red carpet producer-executive producer, ex-small business consultant, ex-youth media and journalism mentor, and now a college student who also has been married three times (thirds the charm), and just couldn't help living with two other women because well, that's part of my story.
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