THE OLD DAYS


I miss getting you drunk,
watching you down three vodkas
to my one
calling me a wuss;
slurring, tripping,
touching me.
I miss the days when I'd see you
at the bar
and afterwards
passed out on your bed.


I miss the times we used to have,
times you barely recall,
but have burned deep into my drive.


I miss the opportunities I so frequently squandered
which you offered so frequently.
I miss the energy and the chaos
and even, the lurching over your toilet,
holding your hair back.


I miss the old days
and
I know you're better off.
I know you dare not return to those days
but I miss them
and I wish...
I wish.

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