In the Toaster

I lost my last bartending job because I was drinking near the end of my shifts sometimes.  Always I worked hard for my guests and team-mates, but I used alcohol to ease my stress, numb my physical pains and to celebrate the everyday completion of a job.

I've been in purgatory working a job that doesn't pay well, but at least they gave me a shot.  As of today, I haven't had a drink in seven months.  I have regained my balance and remembered my priorities.  My wife, kids and home are all that count.

I'm about to start another job that should pay me what I'm worth again.  Maybe I've proven that I'm responsible.  Maybe I'll be released from purgatory.  Does that mean I get to celebrate a little?

I've been thinking about it.

In the Toaster

So long

I've been dry and square

As a slice of toast.

Need a little butter

For smoothness,

Spread some jam

To make me sweet,

But take care

To keep my shape.

Too much jam and butter

Just make a sloppy mess

On my fingers,

Down my shirt,

All over the floor.

Nothing

Feeds the family

Like a wholesome loaf of bread,

But too much time

In the toaster

Makes an ashy crust

Good for nothing

But crumbs.

So I need to spread

A little butter and jam

Sometimes.

In the works is a book of my poems.  Currently I'm calling it "The 86 Collection" but it needs a real title.  Some phrase from one of the poems will distinguish itself.