L

#46

I pulled you out of the street by your sleeve
and thought that you would be mad.
It's something
you see mothers doing
to children they can't get to behave.
You were drunk.
There wasn't much dignity left to lose.
And you, you were fucked enough to think
that I was something
better than what I am.
You didn't lay a hand on me.

As you pulled up your sleeve
to show me the tattoo you got
after your mom drank herself to death,
I worried it would look cheesy
and bastardize the whole damn blah thing
you were trying to tell me:
You still get wasted
because your brothers still seem to like the taste of gin.

Big talk for someone who plays in traffic.