Through the Haze
"Love is a drug . . ." He muttered thickly.
The cliche caught in his throat,
tripped over his tongue and stumbled out, slurred.
He sat, swaying, showing all the ill effects
of withdrawal and need.
I turned to him and carefully
shook my head, "Truth is a drug.
You can get addicted
Blearily, he grunted. Finished another shot.
to honesty, or to lying.
Two halves of truth."
Pushed away from the bar
And nearly fell. I caught him,
held him up by his lapels,
while the bartender looked on, unconcerned.
"Love," I continued, "Is a virus."
He looked through me.
"You catch the fever, get sick, get weak.
Tires you out, wears you down." His eyes drifted into focus.
"You gotta get clean, get away to survive."
His feet found the floor. I released his jacket,
"After that, you have immunity." He nodded absently,
and straightened. Clumsily, he brushed himself off,
turned away, and stumbled past me to the door.
I turned slowly back to the bar and signalled
the 'tender. He came over, frowning, "Another?"
"Yup." I reached for the drink
he was already pouring. "I'm sanitizing."
Kelly J. Cooper
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