you can hear
on the phone
his forced euphoria

the spit flecks
in his inflection
“It’s all good”

just one week
removed from rehab
the prodigal son

set back up
in the home
less home, more

like a fishbowl
the family eyeballing
his every twitch

no job leads
girlfriend gone, no
prospects for escape

just a day
reeling out ahead
real and dull

still, he tries
hard to please
“I’m so grateful

for these tools,
to be working
on the program”

it settles, overcast
thickens into dark
no evening star

tonight

Robbie Gamble