In our home addictions raged, my father an alcoholic, my
Mother a compulsive gambler. Needless to say there was
Chaos and confusion, trauma and fear. I had stepfathers who
Were also abusive. We never knew from one minute to
the next what would happen. My father had a brother who was
not afflicted with this disease. I have written a poem on this
There comes a part in the
closure of day, when the
evening brings repose to
the weary and mirth to
A story is told of two little
boys, of the same kin, no
one knows what happened
to them, or where to begin.
So allow this be told and
the reader know, this story
of the children could be
A local tavern in the village
square, brings vintage wine
among other fare.
Beer flows, laughter sings
bringing about joy to father
Becoming drunk, he is angry
and mean. They don’t understand
and become sullen and sad.
They are grown now, father is
gone, they still go to the bar,
not knowing it is wrong.
One has a drink, that is enough.
The other boy sits on the stool,
long into the night.
I often wonder, why was one
lost to alcohol and one was not?
In memory of my Father and Uncle