Another whiskey-eyed evening in a downtown bar

The din of rock and roll rumbles

amidst the clamor of the noisy, ignorant masses

I am the distant one, in the corner,

scribbling broken poems on a broken beer soaked table

Writing to remember what I’m trying to forget

Dragging myself down to the depths of solitude,

never realizing how far the depths of down could be

It’s amazing how fast the fall can happen

You left a month ago

The first few days were a numbed emptiness

After the first week I started drinking,

not a lot, but it was a start

Now it’s a way to live,

my sedative for a life I no longer want,

my cut-rate psychoanalyst that speaks from behind the clouds

The pen ran out of ink an hour ago,

but I just keep writing

The emotions come out,

but the words disappeared

Just like you

Last week I dusted my house for fingerprints

because I wanted to know everything that you touched

I found one of your hairs on the bed sheets

I put it in a felt lined box,

waiting for the price of cloning to come down

Norman Cristofoli has published several chapbooks of poetry/prose plus two audio compilations of his spoken word performances. He was the publisher of the “Labour of Love” literary magazine for 25 years, and his play “The Pub” was published in June 2020. Visit their website here:  https://normancristofoli.com/