Dave Hughes: All Aboard


It’s that moment of clarity.
The grinding lurch.
Which is,
the unwelcome protest of the lucid mind.
You have been happily chugging along
riding the rails of of cheap booze
chased with cheaper beer.
You purchased your ticket with $3 pitchers.
You rocketed through the small towns
of Buzzed and Clipped.
Tomorrow almost certainly will be an empty wallet wake up.
The party train had left Station Cold Hard Reality at a reasonable speed.
Then made a whistle stop at I’m Funny.
Slowed slightly at Hey Good Lookin’,
finally it was full steam ahead,
towards Blind and Bullet Proof.
Now you are swaying in this apartment,
vapor locked in the bedroom doorway of some girl,
some girl whose name may or may not be doll face.
You’re faced with a caboose
that earlier had you mesmerized,
but now makes you vaguely uneasy.
She clears a landslide of stuffed animals from her bed,
each has a name,
you believe her to be reciting them,
until it dawns on you.
That in a singsong falsetto,
she is introducing you, to them.
In this shudderingly sober second,
you pray that the final stop on this line will be
Come to Yur Senses Man.
But accept that the best you can hope for is,
Sweet Amnesia.


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