In the last year it became hard
for me to get through to myself,
as in, I kept saying I must stop
at a liquor store after a haircut,
when I knew I had a basketful
of Jim Beam in a kitchen cabinet,
or why I thought I had to find
a repair shop to fix the electronic
dance on the dashboard of my car,
when, like a miracle, it fixed itself.
Maybe because they said the scan
of my brain one year ago revealed
a void, and no doctor ever told
me what it meant or how to fix it,
so I began trying to fill my void,
whatever it is, howsoever I could.
Ronald Moran has published poems in a number of journals, including Tar River Poetry, The Lake, and The South Carolina Review. His last six books of poetry were published by Clemson University Press. He lives in Simpsonville, SC.