i'm horribly hung-over, the shakes,

gas that would kill a dog

and peripheral flashes of jackhammer light.

the shelf is multi-colored insanity,

but i have to find the one that's safe to breastfeed with

and still give my wife some relief

from a flu that’s decked her ass bedside.

she wrote it out on the back of this old grocery receipt,

but the words go bird-shit in my mind

as my eyes grate painfully from note to shelf and back again.

you need to get this right,

i say to myself.

you get so little right for her.

i redouble my efforts,

squinting to a razor’s edge

and fighting off nausea

from the lightning bolts in my skull.

but it can't be done.

i meekly hand the note to the pharmacist

and she points it out.

i pay for the thing

and drop my wallet several times

before stumbling outside.

the sun is where its always been,

but my car eludes me

and the space between lampposts

seems to have been shrinking

for many years now.