Sunday, July 29, 2007

All Night News

All night we addicts take our turns,
connect for cigarettes or sweets,
or a cup from the immemorial urn

abstracted from uremic cheetah
to be simmered lovingly all day,
until a glance will etch the teeth.

Awful coffee, is what I’m saying.
No one bothers to pretend
it hasn’t always been that way,

and yet the heads recoil again
and again from the waxed-paper rims,
delighting the fixed few old men

who gather as the day gets dim
to court by night the cardboard
queen who hypes Virginia Slims.

Yes. Much as it’s to be deplored,
an itch for the bitch nicotine
will still often jog me toward

that urn in the odd hours between
gray despair and dawn’s red ink.
But I head first for the chrome caffeine,

unable to care what the regulars think
of someone who never seems to learn,
who always winces, always drinks.


Absolute Vanilla (and Atyllah) said...

Sucker for punishment,eh? ;-)

Minx said...

Rather have the bitch than the bean but a local garage probably sells the worst coffee in the world. It tastes like stewed wool.

John said...

Abs, you got me. But if I wasn't, I wouldn't be doing this, would I?

Stewed wool, Minx? You don't know how lucky you are...