Porch Light Soliloquy

The coolest bald guy in Atlantic City

drops trip lines down sacred avenues

into holy bodegas celebrating corporate rates

and second dates through time and space.

Do you ever get tired of hearing your own voice?

When it keeps you up every night?

Does your cell phone take photographs?

Of all the things you don’t want to forget?

The cab driver/therapist. The bartender/

psychiatrist. The text message from your

“boyfriend” don’t come home ive changed

the locks. The lonely dog in the

backyard with the ball. Dark out, no dinner.

The photograph of Grandma eating a bologna sandwich.

No regrets. No movie nights on the terrace.

No snack time. No family. No cable television.

Stress free Rosh Hashanah spent in the depths of a marathon

bender of fucked up proportions. The car and the driver

were there as promised, the tour of the country side was

long and effective. The mini-bar was stocked and I was stoked.

Home felt far away. Weekends are for people with goals.

It was comforting, that day, after the funeral, knowing that

the person shitting in the next stall was just as lonely as me.

I had no reason to leave the bed after that until the weekend,

when George came into town to see the new boat. Brought a

box of Cubans and a draft of his new book. Have not gotten

around to it yet. This weekend looks promising, though.