by

Robert H. Dirr Jr.

Swimming towards the surface of this cesspool filled with
Alcohol and cocaine and self-pity, I can see pallid light
And the dim face of a friend. I fight to free my legs from
Unseen hands that try to lock me to the turgid bottom.

These bursting lungs and bloodshot eyes and weightless arms fight
And all this desperation and loneliness is cautiously decaying.
It's ironic to me that the person beckoning from above is
The one that hurled me into this filthy septic tank of life.

And someday I must thank her for it. . .not for the pain and
Darkness and misery, but for perceptiveness of existence.
Recalling the past, I have lived only for me-myself-mine-and-I,
And my greatest sin was ignoring the simple needs of others.

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