8.00 am

Sunday 8.00am

rain trickles down a grey windowpane

I stare through the speckled glass

drawing a smiley face in the condensation.

 

The aroma of smoke and cheap perfume

lingers in last night’s clothes

carelessly strewn in a haphazard trail

that leads to the messy sheets of a bed

I have barely slept in.

 

Jukebox songs still ring in my ears

along with the ghosts of laughter, chatter

images of people fighting for the bar

images that end abruptly.

 

I gnaw my fingernails nervously

trying to recall the journey home

my head swims like a demented fish

the rain applauds.