Through the Haze 

        "Love is a drug . . ." He muttered thickly.
        The cliche caught in his throat,
        tripped over his tongue and stumbled out, slurred.
        He sat, swaying, showing all the ill effects
        of withdrawal and need.
        I turned to him and carefully
        shook my head, "Truth is a drug.
          You can get addicted
          to honesty, or to lying.
          Two halves of truth."
        Blearily, he grunted.  Finished another shot.
        Pushed away from the bar
        And nearly fell.  I caught him,
        held him up by his lapels,
        while the bartender looked on, unconcerned.  
        "Love," I continued, "Is a virus."
        He looked through me.
        "You catch the fever, get sick, get weak.
          Tires you out, wears you down."
        His eyes drifted into focus.
        "You gotta get clean, get away to survive."
        His feet found the floor.  I released his jacket,
        "After that, you have immunity."  He nodded absently,
        and straightened.  Clumsily, he brushed himself off,
        turned away, and stumbled past me to the door.
        I turned slowly back to the bar and signalled
        the 'tender.  He came over, frowning, "Another?"
        "Yup."  I reached for the drink
        he was already pouring.  "I'm sanitizing."

                                        Kelly J. Cooper
                                        5/4/92
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