Day Two of NaPoWriMo.*
“write a poem about a specific place — a particular house or store or school or office. Try to incorporate concrete details…”
Almost six p.m. Happy hour.
Parking lot is nearly full;
it’ll be jumping inside.
Sure enough, the long, narrow, windowless room is packed.
Folks old and young. Well, not too young.
Drinking age. Mostly.
Most every seat is taken.
I shoehorn in anyway, and
sit near a bleary-eyed fellow,
drink sloshing in trembling hands.
Next to him, a woman, talkative.
Soft, brandy-colored eyes.
Voice smooth as well-aged whiskey.
Men bellied up to the long table,
retelling the day’s events.
anecdotes about their work mates.
Fellow at the far end checks his watch.
Pats his beer belly. Clears his throat.
Shoves his coffee out of the way.
Picks up a big blue book.
“All right, time to start the meeting.”
The room goes suddenly quiet.
“Hi, everyone. I’m Brian, and I’m an alcoholic.”
A full-throated, “Hi, Brian,” reverberates around the room.
And thus begins the AA meeting
at the Grace Episcopal Church on Second and Main.