AA Meeting (ROUND 3)

Let’s workshop this poem about the fragile nature of sobriety (where every moment feels like a precarious balancing act) and how an unexpected gesture of connection can become a powerful lifeline

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AA Meeting 

That hand kept fidgeting metallic ratatats
too broken, too shifty in accent, to stand—
let alone to grab onto any pattern beyond
the brainstem wall scrabblings of a feral cat
in a drown barrel (light shut by a rusty lid).
Knuckle staccato shook the entire church  
basement, so it seemed. I scowled left—
a plea, now open, deflected by desolation.

For me, it was merely sober day seven.
And I saw my own hand dart out, stilling 
those whacko rudiments against the chair.
Eyes in our circle converged on the touch—
a perfect excuse to go home, to mainline
oblivion. Yet it did not slump. Nor did it
tear free. It held my own the full session—
faithful. And I spoke for the first time.

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https://www.reddit.com/r/Poetry/comments/1eo0lg9/poem_aa_meeting_by_m_a_istvan_jr_right_hand