The Day Michael Jackson Died

I remember
where I was
the day
Michael Jackson died.
The announced it
on the radio
as my girlfriend and I
drove
to the liquor store.
People were
calling in;
everyone seemed
so sad.
"Thriller" played
as she walked
inside
to get vodka.
We talked
about it
all night
as we
downed shots.
At 2 a.m.,
we got into
a fight.
It was
quite brutal.
I ended up
drinking alone
on the back porch,
while she passed out
in bed.
Not all of us
can be pop stars;
some of us
are common drunks.

Control

He is a
big man,
about seventy;
I had never
seen him
at a meeting
before.
His hair
is white
and his face
is battle scarred.
He tells us
about his
newest problem.
"The only thing
I can control
is how I react to it,"
he says.
He leans back
in his chair
with his arms
crossed around
his chest
like two pieces
of lumber.
He goes on
to tell us
about his first
thirty days.
I stare at him,
nodding,
knowing.