Even the headaches
each morning didn’t stop her
from pouring one more.

So many bottles
clanking in the recycle bin—
chimes of shame sound.

They passed out on the lawn
one too many times that summer.
The paper boy’s laughter.

Their story merely
alcoholic palimpsest
no one remembers

to tell till now,
38 years later, with
nitro cold brew on tap.