American Blackout

by Jackson Warfield

I went out to meet you

for a single beer,

america

but going out to meet you

for a single beer

is always

a great fool’s mistake

one turns into two

two into three

three into shots

and so on and so forth

and now

in the hungover morning

I can’t even remember

coming home

but when I see

the vomit

on the toes of my shoes

while my shaking fingers struggle

with the laces

I am reminded of a dark alley

with brick walls

and then

of a lengthy

one-sided argument

with the sad ghost of myself

and then

I begin to wonder

if I should regret being born

so damn you

damn me

and damn the blackout

my beautiful

american blackout

Jackson Warfield lives in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. If he could talk to any inanimate object, it would be the beer in his hand, so he could say to it, "you're about to go down, motherfucker!" You can find more of his work at jacksonwarfield.com.