Sometimes I grin about my iPod,
how little music, how much recovery
populates that square inch of comfort
and fills my dreams. Joe and Charlie,
Chuck C, Patti O, Clancy, John A….
They drone on as I sleep, but just
when I rouse they say what I need
just then, just now. I know their stories
and cry each time Kip C shows how low
low is, grin at red-headed “sister”
humor of Angie, ache at deprivation
of “normal” in Artis G’s life.
The wisdom of Chuck C’s business
twelfth-step call, of Lawrie’s
grasp of Holocaust, of Jerry J’s
view of goldfish – these folks
and more come to dwell in my iPod
and shape my recovery.