by Ernest Hilbert
I’m battered all to hell. You should see me.
I’m in the corner of a bright diner,
The very one from Suzanne Vega’s song.
Every time I limp to the john to pee
The whole crowd stares at my glaring shiner.
My whole face: swollen eggplant. Before long
I will try to remember what happened.
Memory is just a haunting of ghosts,
And the night is crushed below like eggshell.
In the ER the doctors pretended
I would be fine, and they were quite good hosts.
They stapled my head back together well.
I am sinking on a soft black balloon,
Dreaming of the break. It is coming soon.
Last updated March 15, 2023