Old Sober

By Parker Logan

I’m hungover
at the library and
my coworker’s talking
about her religious 
trauma old
wounds plaguing a
mind that’s never
known a day outside
of control
I hurt am hungry
head ringing 
from the night I had no
intention to have but
that’s how it happens
she talks to me
rats and rent
free housing
in service for
Jesus while filling
paint in
ramekins I put
the lid
on reds
blues yellows for
a program that will not
get much attendance
I throw up a little
go to the bathroom
wash my
face with cool 
water I stare
at myself and find my
body how I left it
a little more tired
a little confused
my track coach
told us this is how
you grow 
get better
sometimes worse but
progress nonetheless
one moment one
imperceptible change
at a time
he said people
overestimate what
they can do in a day
underestimate what
they can do in a
life the water not
helping so I ask
to go home
leave drive down Perkins Rd
through a roadside triage
of personnel
clearing the traffic
the debris from crashes spanning
back to the
invention of vehicles
much longer
than a life a city
a sagacity of how
to best inflict its 
travelers there’s a man
in a Wendy’s uniform 
pointing at a bus
he’s always waiting for I never
see him get on one
but he’s there 
no matter what time I
pass I stop
at this one place I know
sit in the car
and wonder how much
of my life I’ve already
wasted tally up
the time it takes me more
than a minute
to gather myself
before walking in the door
waiting at the register
my mouth wet with
wanting a man
asks what I’m having
looks at me
says he knows
tells me to pay him
and sit down
the unfathomable gift of 
not choosing 
there is no music playing
no cloth
on the table
not a single other person
except for the man
clinking pots
in the kitchen he comes
out with a bowl
filled with broth beef
and noodles
a single egg sliced
down the middle
he nods
I slurp
it’s everything I could
have wanted.