Remembrance
of Treats Passed
The
aroma of cheap, instant coffee
And
stale biscuits that make
False
claim to be French,
Breathes
life into the sleepy
Neurons
of my visual memory,
A
painting in the portrait gallery
Of
my mind, for years unseen,
Its
invisible power incites
A
quantum leap of the senses
Back
to my first twelve-step meeting,
A
remembrance of treats passed,
Of
conversations sidestepped,
Of
eye contact stonewalled, amidst a
Chorus
of chatter, I hover just above
My
seat, ready to dart to the exit
Should
I be asked to speak,
Never
had I heard such honest tales,
Somehow
sprung forth from what must
Have
been the most pained of lips,
Dried
out by alcohol droughts,
Of
bedwetting, thievery, nights in
Police
cells and weeks in asylums,
At
last,
my conscience avows,
I’ve
arrived