chad haskins

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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.