HELLO, FOUR AM by M.J. Arcangelini

Wish I could say it was good to see you again,

we used to meet when I’d start in the late evenings,

falling into spontaneous binges, running from the daylight

with various versions of the same parasitic friend

sucking up as much of my whisky and coke as they could get,

unless I was that parasite, leeching off of someone else,

both of us careless of the time,

convinced the night would go on forever

and our young bodies keep up with it 

shot for shot,

hit for hit,

line for line,

laughing about nothing, like the fools we admired,

composing our cantos and novels with ephemeral words

destined to be absorbed by the cigarette smoke air,

then you would show up, Four AM,

the official mortician for the day,

when the booze ran out and

the words stopped coming,

when the last line had been snorted long before,

when no one had noticed that the woodstove had gone cold

before they collapsed onto the nearest couch or unraveling rag rug,

trying to push the cold morning off to some other day, when

a mountain of such mornings had already accumulated, their 

insistent hands thrusting out to be paid.

Now, sober and older than I ever thought I’d get,

we collide at the late end of the night, the darkest point,

when sleep has retreated,

as evasive as a deadbeat dad,

as annoyingly persistent as a pandemic sniffle,

and the words, gathered during these times of 

unsatisfying slumber, come on like that desperate

trick at closing time who will say anything to get laid,

I’ve been that trick myself from time to time and,

these days, I’ll still take what I can get from the night,

while thanking the morning for showing up one more time

before it all goes to shit.

M.J.  Arcangelini, born in Pennsylvania in 1952, has resided in northern California since 1979. He has published in little magazines, online journals, & over a dozen anthologies.  He is the author of 6 published collections, the most recent of which is PAWNING MY SINS, 2022 (Luchador Press).