Last night he rang. The Bad Idea.
In my sleep fog I answered and heard the old familiar slurred voice.
My heart jumped. Lurched to the pit of my stomach.
I eased into guidance mode.
Gently talk the jumper down from the ledge mode.
Talk the drunk to bed mode.
I wasn't getting through this time.
A cacophony of crashes.
Glass, wood, flesh. Silence.
So I rose and dressed and went.
Over to where I swore I would never go again
in this late night haste of rescue.
"Don't call me like that".
I found his home open to the world and lit bright.
I found him prone on the kitchen floor-out.
I found him.
Gently, put him to bed, undressed, covered,
Gently put the house to rights, lights out, locked up.
Gently kiss his head good night-brush away his
And walk away.
Today his is hurting.
Wants none of me.
Wants none of life.
I will again be his guardian Angel
when the phone blows up.
Because I can't tell him no.