Sobriety Inc.  

“Good day, sir,” they say,
cheeks rosy, premature Christmas carols
on their lips, Ovaltine on their breath
as they speak so calmly, in that
Perry Como kind of way.

“Isn’t it INDEED a good day?” they say again,
acting like long-lost friends,
each with a checkerboard
tucked under an arm,
and I squint and see
that pinned to the chests
of their auburn cardigans are
matching buttons that say,

“SOBRIETY INC.”

They’re long-lost friends, all right.
I remember them from when I was young,
from when the sun didn’t scream on Sunday mornings.
I hate to admit it, but I actually feel better
when these glee club goons are around.
Sure, they play the most boring LPs.
Sure, they talk about board games
and baseboards and old westerns
and why kids these days feel the need
to pierce, to brand, to swear a blue streak.

They straighten the paintings on the walls.
They enjoy washing the dishes
after they’ve grinned their way
through a bowl of oatmeal
or bean sprouts with a dash
of a low sodium Soy sauce.

“And here’s the catch,” I tell my suffering wife
just before she turns out the light on another dulling day,
“These friends of mine from Sobriety Inc.
might never EVER
leave the house.”

But I guess, in a way,
It’s better than enduring a visit
from a wineboxful of drunken relatives,
           right?

           Right?

© 2006 Mark Kozub