The power had been out for days.
Bottle of cheap whiskey, a third gone,
my brother hadn’t even got to her death.
My little dog shivered under the covers.
Eyes bloodshot, “You don’t know how hard it is,”
what he tried to put into order, the difficulty of it
plain on his red face, “What do you know anyway?”
Before I could make my case, if possible,
the dog went still, a warm stream of urine
pouring over my leg, “Oh shit! Oh, goddamnit!”
My dog leapt to a corner, eyes wide on me.
“It’s okay,” I said, “It’s okay. You’re just cold.”
My brother began to cry in starts, like hiccups,
“You’re right, you’re right. I don’t feel anything.”
We're the Ezine dedicated to all things barroom. We are slightly off what others consider the norm and always the last to close the bar. If you prefer the local dive bar to the glitz of some overpriced club then you're our kind of people. So welcome grab a drink and enjoy.
Monday, January 15, 2024
The Cumulative Effect By J.D. Isip
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
FAIRBANKS By Kent Fielding
with a line after Bukowski The swallows are rough today like ingrown toenails As I wake hung-over again, again in a room I do not recogniz...
-
near the on-ramp of I-10 in Crowley, Louisiana we unload our band equipment into the back of Gozzlebeck’s not the real name of the bar but a...
-
Diamond hair Bathe in bourbon and butter You are my Sunday prayer You are everything You are all You are life Rita S. Spalding has had poem...
-
there is a woman who is sometimes at my local café sitting outside with a glass of white wine and that’s not too unusual but i always notice...
No comments:
Post a Comment