Girl Of His Dreams


She was drunk, and he knew
that she’d continue to be drunk;
knew that her daughters would
grow up without her; grow up
away from her, without even
a trace of her, except the rare
and mumbled blackout phone call
almost always unintelligible
in the middle of the night.

When he finally walked away,
he could hear her telling him
all about her upcoming descent
into hell, all about how—if he left
her now—it was all his fault.

When he turned his back,
she said, he turned his back
on any chance they’d ever
meet again, but he knew
it wasn’t true; knew that
—no matter how much distance
he might put between them—
he would never be free of her.

As he walked away, he could
sense her reaching for the pint
he knew she carried in her bag.

He woke up alone.
The phone was ringing.


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