Down The Drain Poem by Charles Malcolm

I spent
my childhood
rotting
alongside windex
and pancake syrup
in a cabinet beneath the sink.

I survived
on expired cough medicine
and uncut fructose
as dish-water
and poison paint chips
rained from the silver black sky.

I left
the cabinet beneath the sink
with pale, twisted limbs
and eyes sensitive
to the light.

I stumbled
into the world.
Discovered scotch and gravy
and women who love chocolate.

I stagger
to the kitchen with tumblers of melted ice
and a plate of half-eaten poutine,
annoyed with wasted potatoes
but charmed by the scarlet stain
on the rim of her glass.

I drop
piles of life into the sink
and run the tap,
full of shame and too afraid
to face what sits beneath.