Bloody Mary

A poem about alcoholism

Photo by Steve Smith on Unsplash

This morning I sent my brother money.
He needs it to sue the Russian bride
he married for 20k
on his lunch break
who is now extorting him.

Seemed like a good idea at the time.
He fell in love with her at the altar,
he told me,
I believe him. I believe he believes it to be true.

He sent me pictures of her,
scantily clad.
My wife is so beautiful, he said.
She is so sexy.

The story was
she was a nurse’s aide.
On the side she applied
fake eyelashes to women’s faces.

That didn’t explain why she had
thousands in a separate account.
Or why she never spent a single night
in my brother’s apartment.

Look at her,
my brother said.
Look at this picture.
How old do you think she looks?

I thought she looked
like an aging prostitute.
I only said,
Looks aren’t…