Photograph ©Copyright 2007 by John-Ward Leighton
CINCINNATI TAXI
I'm watching Tom Waits
and listening to his whiskey soaked words,
he reminds of nights of boozy self pity
and seemingly powerful napkin poems.
I'd empty them from my pockets onto
coffee tables along with the empty beer bottles
and the overflowing ashtray
and crash on spinning beds
in massive disarray.
Now to the two coffee nights
twenty years down the road
I don't have to be told
and I know I'm still a drunk
without even having to think
because I still dream endlessly
about having another drink.
It's lurking behind my facade of sobriety
and all my former drunken notoriety.
So I sit with my back to my TV
and listen to the words of the boozy baritone,
it says,
"Where have you been boy?
It's good to have you home."
In all the farcical logic of alcohol
you are never far removed from the fall
as you stagger along the razor's edge
knowing you will pay a heavy price
for the dubious privilege.
Trying in sober reflection
to resurrect the napkin poems
long rotted in a land fill somewhere
because in your heart
you know there is no there, there.
No need to do anything really sexy,
just take a ride and write
in the
Cincinnati taxi.