… I come back
barely
in bits and waves
the ceiling as blank as my mind
a question mark floats mid-air
suspended time expanding in a sigh
and it feels like morning o’clock
but the mobile on the night-stand
shows a longish one forty pm
flashes of last night emerge
as if they were the blood-stained ghosts
of a savage family drama
in the bathroom mirror
I gaze at something foul
although my Patsy Stone-hairdo is still in place
but flattened on the pillow-side
tufts standing out in spooky places
feathers of a recently plucked hen
and then the question arises:
throw up
Bloody Mary
or surrender…
I remember fancy nibbles
iced vodka
early tides of champagne
a bell tolling something allegedly new
that already felt old
a wobbly cab sometime
when things got bleary
my embarrassed giggles
‘Sorry, lovey, no cash…’
but the driver thank God has left by now
a Jim
or James
or What’s-his-John
when I return from the kitchen
with a fag and aspirined water
I ponder the fifty-euro note
that lies crumbled near my bed
I wonder if I haven’t put on
too much make-up last night…