Pity Party

I could read you all night
if my eyes were not drowning in vodka;
and if it didn’t feel so lonely,
knowing your sweet poems
are all I will ever have of you.

So perhaps, instead of sleep,
I will brew a pot of self-pity,
and write sad songs
about jail,
trains,
and mamma.

As published in ‘Pegasus’
Winter/Spring 2004