Here in Lonely Town
Head down
I search the littered ground of my drunken thoughts
Afraid of what I’ll find
The Truth
That’s why I drink
Gin helps me think
Or not to think
At half past midnight
Still buzzing between the decision
To think or not to think?
To drink or not to drink?
(To be or not to be?)
On and on
Yawning under the awning of Joe’s Shoe Repair:
“For worn-out soles”
The sign is a SIGN!
That’s what she would say
I put the bottle away
(My throat burns anyway)
I pull a silver Zippo from my pocket
She’s engraved her name upon it
A gift to me
The hot orange flame of her love ignites with a metallic clink
Squinting behind it
I choose to think, think, think
Clearly for once
Hard sucking on cigarettes
Kicking a can
Chock-full of regrets
Deep into urban decay
My path of bereavement
This angry spit pavement
(Hawk ptui!)
Cracked and broken as me
Let the pain of loss hit you!
Feel it!
Deal with it!
Own it!
Call me a coward
I’ll continue to drown it
Eighty-proof certain
She’s gone
She’s gone
She’s gone
She’s gone
And nothing can be done
To turn things around
Here in Lonely Town
The Self-Pity City
Population: One
Andrew Dabar