December poem

Our rag-tag rituals,
We gather in bars,
Listening to songs,
Stagger home to sleep it off,
Creating community,
With wisecracks and hugs,
Plenty of hugs.

Our need to touch each other,
Embrace the bones and hair
Skin and muscle,
These containers of our souls
Warm touchstones, allaying our fear
That we will die alone.

I want to die surrounded
By my drunken comrades,
Singing off-key choruses.
Let them pass my body around the room
Until the last bearhug finds me
limp and unresponsive.