He came into the building
    for the second time today.
And…
Today he is undoubtedly wasted.

The pungent odor of alcohol,
   holds a staleness as it
   oozes from his pores,
   and the stench thrusts from
   his mouth, hot, with each
   word he shouts.
His voice booms with anger,
    sprinkled with despair,
     holding expectations
    of me to “fix it.”

There is no reasoning with the
    unreasonable. 
Especially when the unreasonable
    is drunk.
Tasks remain undone,
    with hopes someone
    will “fix it.”
I have been deamed that someone,
    by many.

Can’t help but wonder,
How does it get to this point?

In between the relentless
    whiffs of alcohol and sweat
    is the even more powerful
    scent of… shit.
I wince with nausea
    and pity.
Until his aggressive tone turns
    to aggressive stature, 
    as he staggers over me,
    in furry.

Insufferable. 
List after list.
Call after call.
Paperwork after paperwork.
Smiles given in spite of the smells,
   combative nature,
   showing up unannounced,
   and general incessant difficulty.
He sabotages… again.

Slapping the only hand
    remaining that’s willing to
    help him.

Staggering, unsteady, unpredictable.
Unhoused, incapable, redundant.
Eyes drooping and bloodshot.
Mouth gaping open, exposing 
    the lack of front four teeth.

I see what maybe could have been,
    a young boy who was, then, 
    helpable. 
He yells at me for the last time
    today.
I yell back, instructions on how
    not to speak to me!
The door slams. 
The cycle continues.
This is his life.