I wrote this poem about my Dad who lived his life struggling with alcoholism.  He was a good DAd,
tried with all his heart to give up drinking, but in the end sadly didn’t make it.

I remember
the anticipation
the tickle of
the strange but
cooling taste of
the beer in my mouth.
My Dad who always
had trouble with
liquor,
would always let
me have a sip.
Even as a very young
child.
The feel of the cold can,
being close to my Dad,
being rewarded for
my bravery with a big
hug or kiss from him.
How can something
seemingly so
attractive hurt someone,
undermine a family
pickle his brain so
he forgets all the
wonderful parts of
family and children.
Impairs his judgment
with women and at
work.  That tickle
on my lips has cost me,
cost all my family-
a lot!
The pleasure it once brought
is gone,
he is gone now,
taken too young at 60,
by a sickness he did
not choose and did
not want.
That cold brew kept
calling his name until
it took him away from us.
Those shiny cold cans and
bottles lined up in
grocery stores and on
glass shelves in bars,
call to people.
If they are calling
to you too much,
time to say ‘”no”,
time to say I want to
live! Let that tickle
on your lips
be laughter or
hugs or carbonated water.
Don’t let it hurt
you or others-
A tickle can come
from other things,
from siblings, lovers,
kisses and playfulness,
with out the shiny cold
cans and shimmering
bottles of gold liquid.
to loosen you up and
drawing you in.
Say instead,
I want to live,
I want to be there
for my family
and walk away if you can.

Jewel Roberts 01-10-2017