Seven in the morning.
Hungover as can be.
I remember yelling,
slamming the door.
Was that really me?
Wife looking my way.
She’s wary, I know.
And I deserve it.
I was a total jerk.
The baby in her arms,
while I was raging.
She didn’t need to say it.
I couldn’t apologize,
not enough any how.
Never did I want,
to act the way I did.
It became clear that day,
time was up, for the drink.
Poetry
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