8:33PM Beer, Weeknight. by Alyssa Trivett

The television blares.
I slam the bottle down
and let 'em poetic words
dribble outta my mouth.
Air conditioning
hisses syllables at me.
I'll shot put throw 'em
in a poem
and stop having that dream
where my bloody teeth
fall out
and of how I forgot to
pay my
parking ticket, again.
The bottle was right,
I am paper-cutting
myself off now,
as the alcohol swims
and forms its own thoughts
for tonight, at least.
And have conversations
with radio static
on the way home,
pulling into the
cackling driveway
as the song ends.
It's more broken than me
after this last year.

Alyssa Trivett is a wandering soul from the Midwest. When not working two jobs, she listens to music, chirps down coffee, and scrawls lines on the back of gas station receipts. Her work has appeared recently at In Between Hangovers, The Penwood Review, and Apricity Magazine.