HANGOVER.
I open my eyes to see a roacher
wandering on the ceiling
just above my forehead
it's two antennas vivid and alive
as any burf and siren in the streets
I have a headache
that would bring down
a gladiator
in the era of madness
but nonetheless
I have gotten used to
hangovers like bad sex
or cheap cigarettes
you compromise
unceasingly
its a talent
a gift
the art of survival
depends on our dissapointments
I consume the last stocks
of energy remained
dragging my carcass to the bathroom
having a good ol' cold shower
to open the eye wide and tire the heart
and with a towel around my waist
I glance at the toilet
and wonder if it'd be wise to
put my finger in my throat
like a hook into redemption
but I decide against it
because :
a) it'd be pathetic and weak
and
b) I dont like easy solutions
I open the fridge to witness a true miracle:
four bottles of beer
stacked together like a decimated roman phalanx -
an indication that we were too drunk yesterday
to drink it all-
an extremely rare event.
I lie on the couch amongst
ashtrays and beer cans
a broken stolichnaya bottle under the table
and immerse myself
into the fog of numbness
a near perfect sense of amnesia
where nothing registers
no pain claws your insides
I stand and move my ass to the bedroom
and stare at the sleep-swollen face of this girl
asleep-
her breasts wonderfully upright
bathed still in the kindness of youth
hills of flesh
staring at me.
I slap one of them
to wake her up
its time
to exist
again.
FATHER
I didnt even know
your heart gave out
and they dug a hole for you
and they put you there
to rest;
dear old man
we never had enough time to
do much together
there was not much love to begin with either
but nonetheless
I have your eyes and smile
they say
and you too were a sucker for women
and good chess games
and all that is left are your memories
not many good ones
but there are some
like that time I was 4
and we were fixing something together
and I grabbed a hammer
and almost took your eye out somehow
and I saw you bleeding and run away
being familiar with your tendencies of
violence
but you found me hiding behind the tv set
and you were smiling
and you said its alright son
I forgive you
not many good memories since then
and I always figured I'd weep for you
and carry flowers and drop them over
the casket - all those meaningless things
that somehow are appropriate-
but I havent shed a tear for you
and about all the bad memories still alive-
its alright father
I forgive you too.
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