a rough night

there was the time he showed
up,
still drunk,
for work.
8 a.m.
shaky. red faced.
a new black eye blooming
on one side.
he trembled as he lifted
his 7 11 coffee to his lips.
you ok,
I asked him, as he
looked bleary eyed
from the truck
to the house
where the ladders and
buckets sat.
yeah, he said, lighting
a cigarette.
no ladder work today, I told
him
as he slunk
behind the wall, sleeping
it off in the warm
sun for half
the day.