chad haskins




The kids are down.
My body aches for sleep;
yet my heart cries for attention.

I am an expert at plugging
holes in a leaking boat,
but how long will I be able
to use wood from one end
to fix the other?

Sleep, unpaid bills, kids, house…
there are a million things that
demand my time.

Addictions are my parachute,
but how many more times will
I be afforded a soft landing?

I take a sip of gin and chew
my nails, gazing at the opened
pill bottle:
I think I only took three.

I stare at the ceiling and open
my arms to shapes and figures
descending upon me;

I am taken back to summers
of my youth and nestle
in cool clover under
a shady old oak tree.

The branches protect me
from the heat and gently
sway back and forth,
soothing me to sleep.

I am awakened by wide-eyed
children and begin another day
with the hope of returning
to my tree,

and the fantasy
of not needing to.

Chad Haskins lives in Newnan, Georgia with his wife and two sons. Chad's poems appear in Rose and Thorn Journal, Blue Collar Review, Untitled Country Review, and are forthcoming in The 5-2: Crime Poetry Weekly, Powder Burn Flash, and Yellow Mama.


back to issue 17

take me home