A Wise Man Knows His Own Soul Poem by Charles Chaim Wax

I bumped into George Gauld in Nathan’s
said after his meal he’d visit
his father in Seagate.
I offered a lift.
When we reached my VW van
it was difficult for him to step in
because his left leg was much
longer than his right leg,
and also because he couldn’t
bend his longer leg at the knee.
While we ate in Nathan’s I told him
I couldn’t decide if I should be
an artist or an alcoholic.
Gauld said, “When you create
you connect yourself
to all the real visible realities
of other human beings
but the alcoholic high is
connected to nothing
floating disembodied in the void.”
I didn’t respond to his statement then
but as we neared Seagate
I blurted out, “How come you drink? ”
“I’m a cripple, ”
he said calmly,
as if he’d worked out
the torment
long ago.