When I was a kid
I had this thing
where I'd sleepwalk
every night
and wake up in the closet
or upstairs somewhere
having no idea what was going on
just a vague dreamlike memory
that was incompatible
with anything real

The last ten years or so
of my drinking life
were like that too
where the contrast
was between being home
in a bad marriage
to a woman I loved
who hated me
or being out
with people
who laughed at my jokes
and bought each other a round
every half hour or so

We were all kindred spirits
with the same story to tell
of how desperate loneliness
chased us into those rooms
for a few meager hours of respite
before wobbling out to our cars
and the return
to whatever reality
would wake us up

Just like sleepwalkers
living out our incompatibilities
with anything real
every damn night