When Frank Sinatra comes on
singing "New York New York"
I shut off the radio. They'd been
playing some pretty
decent stuff up till then
but that's like an obscene joke now.
Still thirteen hours
to go before dawn
and there's no guarantee
I will sleep any of it away.
Reading poems by Bukowski
and Raymond Carver.
I buy books off the internet
to read on my Kindle.
I buy plenty of books that way.
(I know you never buy a damn
book, but all your libraries are closed!)
I'm looking for something there,
but so often I find disappointment.
Like the time--
it was a long time ago now--
I was at this singles dance
and this woman I didn't know
looked at me like she could
see right through me and she says:
You're looking for something...
but you're not going to find it here.
What did she think I was looking for?
Happily Ever After?
I still don't know.
But there's twelve hours to go before dawn...
and I know
I'm going
to have to
fill it
with something
that passes
for living.
