Ace Boggess
“Was I Sober Then?”
question asked by Mike James
So far, the whole pandemic,
the election & its aftermath,
one blistering, dreadful day
at a time—not a slip, a lean
toward relapse. I’ve kept
a clear head while watching
weeks of lies, virus, rising toll.
Often, I wanted to crawl
under my bed & hide,
knowing Fate would find me,
its icy calm enticing.
I thought about holding
my addiction like a tender lover
with cruel moods & sadnesses.
In those weakened phases,
no one came with temptation.
I fought when I could,
found no enemies
when my strength had failed.
Perhaps the virus saved me,
torturer pausing to keep
the subject alive before returning
with batteries & knives.
“Do You Still Drink?”
question asked by Paul Lee
Self-abasing rules of rambling NA orators
sharing details of their yesterdays
compel no religion in me. I will worship
every doorknob in the house,
not turn one to walk through a space into emptiness.
In my mythology, tablets & powders
transformed me into a grizzly by night,
shaken rabbit in the afternoon;
a shot of vodka has never left me
ready to tear the arms off a statue
or stab the back of a sofa with a kitchen knife.
I grant the sober priests their need for not
my drug equating still a drug—
belief that keeps them safe, as faith
in anything, unflinching, always does.
Ace Boggess is author of seven books of poetry, most recently Tell Us How to Live (Fernwood Press, 2025) and My Pandemic / Gratitude List (Mōtus Audāx Press, 2025). His writing has appeared in Indiana Review, Michigan Quarterly Review, Hanging Loose, and other journals. An ex-con, he lives in Charleston, West Virginia, where he writes, watches Criterion films, and tries to stay out of trouble. His first short-story collection, Always One Mistake, is forthcoming from Running Wild Press.