before i fell off the stairs
that one as competitive a drinker as i
should never be asked to climb
i was struck by a recollection
of a cool spring in a park full of
dragging feet, in brand new shoes,
down the paved weaving path
at the center of which a boy chuckled
with a buddy, a blood buddy
holding on to a nearly empty bottle of beer
with an unlit cigarette in his right hand
some lunch money in his pocket
dirt on his knees
and the kind of freedom
that only alcohol can provide

it's a wonder how such a boy
ever managed
to not
fall off
the path