beer on the porch

the beer was on my porch when I came home from work.
Staring blankly at me as it leaned against the door.
She was gone as I had expected.
Her Saturday was on Monday
and I knew the party that never ends
had found her.
I decided to do what I do when I feel down
as my daughter penned it
"to pick up heavy things and put them back down again."
The gym
A church of mine for many years now.
A place to try and align my body with
my failing mind and spirit.
I walked into church, said my prayers,
and blew out my lower back almost instantly.
I felt the tendons and muscles fail
and I limped away quietly
to not show my weakness.
I drew a scalding bath and sat in it long enough to where the pain numbed everything
reading an old friend
sipping a beer, smoking a cigar
until I couldn't stand the heat any longer.
I found my couch
more beer, more smoke
empty, alone, and now broken
more now than I had been when I found the beer on the porch.
I wanted what I couldn't have.
I knew it wasn't what I wanted.
And I'd added a new pain on top of the old.
I smiled.
As I limped across the cabana to the refrigerator for a fresh, new bottle,
the stinging in my back never let me think of her.