Friday, July 16, 2010

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.

1 comment:

  1. I love this, it's so quiet and reflective...

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