He quit,
before I was born.
But grandpa used to drink here.
Then he would scrape into the driveway,
drunk.
Stumble through the door, and fall
into my grandmother's arms.
Rigor setting into his veins.
She would lay there with him and suck the poison out.
Stroke his beard.
She loved him and hated him.
But she was his,
and he was hers.
They would live and die like that.
Cancer,
ate her mind.
She let out her pain and hate.
He deserved it,
he loved her,
she loved him,
he knew that.
