A Fool in Alcoholic Haze

Alone on the porch,
look up at the sky
as the rain hits my eyes,
and the drink in my hand
lets me draw up the barrier
and pretend I won't listen
in my head, when tomorrow comes.

Drown out the airplanes,
drown out the inch-long, loud,
seventeen-year black bugs,
with another shot,
and another and another,
while lightning speckles my sight.

Feel words creep up my spine,
from that well deep inside,
where I keep precious phrases
like "You shouldn't have been born"
or "I will hurt you if you ever tell"
in stagnant pools,
like the disgusting water
in the patina birdbath.

Pick out another cicada
from the drink in my hand,
and down it quickly.

Tears well, evaporate,
get lodged in my throat, again.

But we all now know,
all my words are just
lifeless fodder among the many
that litter my past
with a sorrow
that means nothing.

So, down the drink,
and pull him into bed,
because this too is all I have.