One Night

Cheek-blush sky rolls
into the darkest blue -
one horizon to the other -
dance party drinks,
my night in ruin
by a whisper of hope.

Crawl around the grass,
pick up little blades
on my bare knees -
startled -
drunken moron hikes up my skirt
to reveal the shorts underneath
and says, "Fuck, I hoped it was bare"
and invades my reverie
quite unpleasantly.

Someone sounds sick,
but this is not mine
to condole or assist,
instead, a blatant request
is suddenly in my head,
"Sing something for me."

Sit by a baby tree,
start a hum to no one,
and make up cheesy words:
"All I want is to love you/
All you want is to be me"
or
"Come to me, find me/
pretend for me/
one more time for me" -
I surely must be drunk.

Loud laughter, more drunken
than the last few kids
kills all of that, too.

Think again about the river,
the bridge, the rushing flood,
and feel a mental slap
across my face
picture a pointed forefinger,
and a scold,
"You know better than that."

Start to walk home,
detour down to the park,
go sit on the stairs
that overlook the ass
of Cincinnati
and think over the night.

So many more to go
some completely alone,
some like this,
surrounded and still alone.
My repeated phrase, "I give up"
is followed by "Isn't that
one of the twelve steps?
So, I give it over to You,
make it all right," I pray.

"Fool girl, you make it right,"
the same voice laughs.
I pause to see if there are more,
bigger, loving words.
"Anybody else answering you?"
he asks.

I stomp back to the house
next to our neighbor's party,
grind my teeth,
and think,
"Of all the people who hear voices,
why am I the only one
who gets talked out of this stuff?
Where's my 'kill your dog' or
at least 'kill yourself'?"

No witty reply this time,
shut off, cold, empty,
inside me quiet, finally.