UNDERGROUND VOICES: POETRY
JAMES BABBS

Another Sunday Morning Hangover

I don't know why
I keep doing this to myself
I guess a man
has to do something
with his time and
it sure beats sitting around
feeling stone cold sober
on a lonely saturday night
staring at the walls and
why the hell does my neighbor
find it necessary
to keep revving the engine
of his pick-up truck
hell
doesn't he know
his driveway's not too far
from my bedroom window and
there's a bad taste in my mouth
like I swallowed a dirty pillow and
it's stuck in my throat and
it won't dissolve
I really need to take a piss
but my legs hurt and
maybe
I overdid it again
last night
like I always do
but there's sunlight
screaming through the windows and
goddamn
it feels good to be alive


Before Entering Potbelly's Alone

I linger behind the wheel of my car
after turning off the engine
watching the traffic going by
remembering
how we used to meet here
every Wednesday afternoon
always managing to
sit in the same booth
until we started calling it ours and
we ordered sandwiches called the wreck
but you asked for American cheese
because
you didn't care for Swiss and
we added pepperonis to them
and topped them off with hot peppers
when we were finished eating
I liked holding your hand and
looking into your green eyes
sitting there together for hours
drinking free refills of Diet Coke
today
I've already decided
I'm going to sit at
one of the small tables
near the front door
so I can watch the people coming in
not that I'm expecting to see anyone
but you just never know









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