A poem for those struggling with alcohol (or any substance)

AA

“Open meeting.” No assigned seating.
Floorboards creaked with every shift of a chair.

The fireplace was dusty. The smell, musty.
I sat in the corner of spiritual air.

One by one, each spoke in tongues
that I heard but weren’t my shoes.

Their tales of men began at nostalgic 10
before a long jam in the blues.

Prior to “sin,” one told with a grin
-a smile I could hear in his voice-

about a first sip, friends he was with;
a memory I could rejoice?

Most nodded heads knowing what it meant:
Sex, God, and Shelter.

Wanting to need, needing to concede,
was the story of their weather.

Pity and Envy! Though my teacher sent me,
where in myself have I lied?

We all joined hands. They chanted, I lagged,
together saving Jekyll from Hyde.