Awake at 3am

That night I lay on the floor

spread like a drunk, on an old mattress.

I had fashioned a canopy out of an old sheet

to keep the sun off my head when it rose,

but it was white and thin so I doubted it would suffice.

That didn’t matter much.

I lay awake staring at the dipping centre,

imagining a night sky

or some ancient curtain of a pharaoh or emperor of Rome.

It was a pleasant fantasy.

 

Then I waited for her .

I knew she wouldn’t come

but I waited,

in part out of ritual I suppose

or loyalty,

whatever that meant.

I’d heard her sing that night.

She must have chosen that song, those words.

How could she not have?

It was a small club

wherever you looked you could name all the faces.

She chose the words and either didn’t think of me or did.

I’m not sure which would hurt more

in a club that small.

Maybe that’s what I was waiting for.

Answers,

answers only she could bring.

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