Joe Inabinette is a teacher of students with Special Needs. He currently resides in McKinney, Texas although his heart lies in Portmierion, Wales.
In between being a teacher and a father of four (and two grandchildren), he enjoys writing and analyzing the 1967 television show, “The Prisoner”, from which he draws a great deal of inspiration for his life.
The First Cup
I took my first cup of coffee just now, The first of many… I have to have a lot Because I am in another day That I am required to serve my kids And their families And It’s nearly impossible…. I took my second cup of coffee just now, The second of more that will come… It has to keep coming, you see So that I can lean on something And stay at full speed As I crash into the wall of another day… I took my sixth cup of coffee… just now… (And a got little extra help from my new friend Xanax) So that I can deal with a child who will, today, Scratch and claw and bite and fight against his inner monsters, And me as well—and I will have scars atop the ones I still am nursing I took my first glass of wine just now… It won’t be enough—never is of course; I have to have a lot you know Because I am in another night where I’ve built a new womb called drunkenness It’s driven my wife away… And my kids… But, after these days as a teacher stretch out Through this time of soul destruction Sweet wine closes the spiked door on the stress and terror of each day And— it opens the satin door… To not remembering what I am doing… I spoke to her last night with words I can’t remember I hurt her with those words of anger out of where my life has gone I hurt the only one who dares to love me I chose to numb my soul And mind To the point of changing into someone else And I’m losing her…and myself But I need that new womb still…and can’t find a way out of it I took my first cup of coffee just now…
Worn Through the Carpet
Today… the world let go of me; and reality became as broken glass. Threads worn bare by endless stress and self-destruction appeared at last And—in an instant, I found the world to be a rug that had worn out And I fell through a hole I had worn through pacing and Struggling in anguish with my mind and my fear… I plummeted through to the void left wide and beckoning for feeding… I knew what it was to be naked at pure zero; Cold and shaking like a old man’s hand Unable to think or move or breathe And watching the mirror stay intact As my face shattered apart and broke apart instead My soul started to smolder and ignite, I’d become a man of paper inside that mirror facade Burning and tearing and turning to ash But, although the fire of my drunkenness burst into an inferno A cry for help exploded from a heart That had stopped beating and started dying And, above the roar of the flames, I listened. Today the world let me fall but it kept one thread dangling Which I was able to grasp For a precious moment And that fragment was the one I love… That fragment of the carpet reached out Despite my hurting her And refused to let go… The pieces of my splintered reflection, of my shredded soul Still are in a state of mend; and that mending will be long… They may be only glass but the glue of Love Will mend them; Will adhere them together With a glue from another’s heart A glue insoluble by anything. So; The glass of my mask, the soul made of paper inside me Becomes a new man Made of healed glass And rejoined paper On whose pages are written.. You Can Do this. You can be Loved You Are Loved. You are broken..but you will be whole And You will be worth it. Heal.