Wednesday, December 2, 2015

9:36 in the morning.








she paints her fingernails red
as I roll over
to catch another dream
hoping she'll still be here
when I wake.
hoping she'll still love me
this morning
and let me watch her
in the shower
as she washes off the stink.


she smokes cigarette
after cigarette
and writes in her diary
of the days and nights
we spend in this dingy
motel room
making love
with the sun and the moon.


she dies quietly
while she sleeps
and I lay close
as her body
turns from warm to cold
thinking of the memories
we made
and the times that have gone
knowing that they will never be
returned.


closing time.








the air is thick
with smoke
and B.O.
the jukebox
plays Sublime
as the pool balls
split to every
side
of the table.
I sit alone
at the bar
ashtray
cigarettes
and a bottle
of beer
to the right
of me-
murder on my mind.


guess what?








it is quiet.
early morning-
7 a.m.
you drive
down to the store
as a serene
piece of music
plays on the radio.
nothing
could be better.
absolutely nothing.
darling today
is going to be
a wonderful day.


Keith Wesley Combs