SOME NIGHTS THE LONELINESS
gets so bad there is just nothing to stop it.
it’s a wonder i’m not an alcoholic or a drug
user. but i’m not. never have been.
i just deal with the angst, the anxiety, the
sorrow, the fear, the regret. watching a
ball game can help, but not on nights
like this. so i get into my car and drive
to her salon, just to see her, to talk with
her, watch her do the books. it doesn’t
matter what she’s doing. just so long
as she’s doing it next to me.
I like this poem or I want to like it … I wonder if she will be “next” to the narrator at the end or simply “in the room” with him … does the regret involve her? if so … will she be “next to him”? Doesn’t matter … I’m going to be picky and say that I would have liked the poem more had it had a title like “Some nights” with the existing title then becoming the first line … but it’s a style, for some, to have the title as the first line … and who should argue about such things … I’m not sure how this would work in a “live reading” … hell, what do I know? Nothing … anyway, I’m sending this as “conversation” … I liked the poem … and the pic of the pile of books … DaP
thanks for taking time to comment
rich