(A History Of Relapse In America)

I.   He asks the waiter to make the dish without wine and says, I will never drink again.

II.   The dog should be rescued, as a drinking man, a man who sprawled last time in the dirt with ants on his face, might not feed it. The dog is dead he says and hangs up. I call from the driveway. Send out the dog, I'll take him in the meantime. I'm in Willits, working he says, two hours away. I say, that's nice, you're in Willits, but could you send out the dog anyway. I'm in Willits! Open the door, send out the dog! The door opens and the dog bounds into my car.

III.   If my eyes were closed I would have thought I was pumping gas instead of smelling his neck. Syrup breath. He pulls down the sheet he just pulled up. Soaking pillow. Body stain. Bloated belly twice what it was ten days ago. He wipes tears and denies them. Bewildered like a man who got off at the right bus stop but the buildings have changed. Negative bank accounts, all four of them. He says I needed it to buy cheese at Circle K. The cable was shut off I tell him as he quivers, reaching for the remote. Nothing to watch he says and turns over toward the smeared window. Swirled greasy hair faces me. I was craving cheese, he says.