Wednesday, August 29, 2018

Late Check-Out

I should have left the hotel room long ago,
maybe half an hour after you,
just long enough so no one would see us together,
but I’m too hungover.  I think I’m dying.
You left a tumbler of whiskey on the bedside table,
ice cubes long melted.
I can’t even look at it now,
but I can smell it.
Aching head, dry mouth.
Naked between these sheets,
I light a cigarette.
The maid raps insistently at the door,
ready to take me out with the rest of the trash.
I hate myself at times like these.
This love has turned me into a begging dog,
which you alternately caress and kick in the ass.
You call my name,
and I come running in a pair of black stilettos.

1 comment:

  1. The prompt was to write a kind of noir-like chanteuse-y poem using at least six of the following words: hotel, whiskey, hangover, naked, cigarette, dying, love, dog, begging, stilettos, jail. So I think this roughly fits the bill.