Cigarettes Sleep On The Floor And The Moon Is Afraid To Stay Out Late

CIGARETTES SLEEP ON THE FLOOR AND THE MOON IS AFRAID TO STAY OUT LATE

A cigarette

lay on the floor next to the bed.

It was a memory of

the previous night’s revelry –

so was the vomit in the toilet,

and my splitting headache.

It was a hard night of drinking.

We met up with some friends

and strangers.

Sparks flew between some people,

and anger between others.

We were on the roof,

at a bar,

at a club,

an apartment,

a hot dog stand,

the streets,

and then back to an apartment.

We sent text messages to

people we should not have.

We talked about our problems,

our relationships,

each other.

No one talked quietly

or minced words.

We drank imports,

domestics,

hard liquor,

cider,

beer,

and water.

We peed in bathrooms,

on street corners,

off buildings.

When it was all

said-and-done,

the Sun had joined us –

the night had gone to sleep –

and soon,

we would too.

Copyright Oren Peleg 2009