The Last Drink…

The Last Drink Before Dawn: Otis’s Path to Sobriety

Otis was, first and foremost,

a drunk—whisky in hand.

He’d sober up, or fail.

An angel could save him,

but only after he asked.

Before,

he had life by its tail.

He lifted his head

in a drying-out cell—

a bar fight cost him

a night in jail.

One birthday drink,

and Otis couldn’t hold his rum—

his mind adrift, slurring words.

Starla, a friend, phoned

the ward—he spent time

in a psych unit—

padded walls, the rest.

Otis stumbled over an opportunity

when he learned his father

left with a woman down the street.

His mother left this world,

for one where angels wipe away tears.

Otis, tired of waking up

beneath a broken streetlight,

at the end of the road,

decided rock bottom—

empty gin bottle—

had met its match.

His last drink

hollowed out his childhood—

hand bloody, broken bottle.

He smoked on the stoop.

Birch trees had bloomed.

Trimmed grass made him

long for a wife, his angel.

He met a Paisley, a nurse,

who turned his life around.

Paisley helped him through grief.

He dried out for good,

started counseling—

never believed in it until

he needed it.

He let go of his pain,

allowed vulnerability in.

He learned her family’s laughter,

plates unbroken,

walls, solid.

It came to him—

life makes sense

when someone believes in you.

Five years sober,

and an engagement ring—

Otis believed in himself,

believed in Paisley—

an angel whose healing love

alcohol couldn’t touch.

By  Andy Cooper

From: United States

X: AC0040