That Christmas Eve
they were bonding
For one recently dead mother
And one long since past
Doubly lost to pathos and intoxication
Mothering he gently guided
the currently most sick
of the pair
To regret and review the evening’s repast
HURLING as we say now,
The very tidy duo, together they cleaned the evidence of their own shame.
And realized that they need not wait for last-call
in the bar
Mothering he, holding up his friend’s coat
Both were swaying
In an odd dance of friendship
As the other flailed his arms backward
Trying to locate that tube to throw his arms into
Mothering He seemed so very tender in
that fleeting moment of holy Christmas Eve
They were the gift.
Doubly lost, as they were to pathos and intoxication.