otoh

:cycle:
On Sunday afternoons, he naps.
That makes it hard to sleep on Sunday nights.
He gets a couple hours in before he has to get up for work.
Most weeks.
Sometimes he’s up all night.
All week long he throws himself into his job.
Not much time for home or family.
His kids go out with friends.
His wife stays out of his way.
She has given up.
He tries not to think about it.
Friday nights he pops open the beer.
And the pack of cigarettes.
He only smokes and drinks on weekends.
That makes it okay.
He doesn’t have a problem.
Through the haze of the smoke.
He sees his lover.
From 20 years ago.
Ghostly and unreachable.
The haze blends into the fog of the alcohol.
Somehwere in the night he passes out.
Only to wake up and continue.
Because the haze and the fog are more comfortable.
Than his life has become.
All day and all night.
He sits and sips and smokes.
On Sunday mornings he stops.
On Sunday mornings he knows he hasn’t kissed his wife.
On Sunday mornings he knows he hasn’t held his children.
On Sunday mornings he feels the loss.
On Sunday mornings he resolves to change.
On Sunday mornings he cries.
:recycle: