After I got sober, Dad and I would have
Father/Son nights whenever I was in town.
Perkins, a meeting, make the rounds of local
taverns, schmooze with his old regulars.
Years of owning a bar made him a regular
in two smoke-filled rooms: slinging booze
to childhood friends—sharing burnt coffee
and stale Danish with strangers.
One night, a woman was getting her one year
chip. Told us how she planned to drink after her
first meeting. I remembered how much I didn’t
remember of my first year. Blur of withdrawal.
Night terrors. Compulsion to use. She gripped
her medallion, looked at Dad. In a small bird
of a voice—What you said to me a year ago
kept me coming back. He smiled, relit his cigar.
We stood for the Serenity Prayer. The woman
squeezed my hand. I washed coffee cups,
emptied ashtrays. Dad’s turn to lock up
the Alano. We were the last ones to leave.
Twelve years ago I got my one-year chip.
Dad got his on my thirteenth birthday. I asked
what he said at her first meeting—he took out
a fresh cigar, shook his head—I have no idea.
Alex Stolis latest collection Bombshells, Bozos & Bastards was released by Alien Buddha Press in 2026. He lives in the Hudson Valley of New York with his partner, poet Catherine Arra.
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