Saturday, July 30, 2022

Drunk in a Hotel Room

On this Saturday night, we might have

curled our toes in sand, tried to catch flies

with chopsticks, counted stars. We might

have found some form of peace,

but we never really learned the fine balance

of precious words on a sober tongue,

or the reprieve offered by sunset

and a breath pulled into lower belly.


Instead, we clean the wax that drools from lips,

chatter like keyboards, unravel our ribbons,

trade jokes with the dead, and

pluck the frayed pages of written confessions out of the fire pit.


The last time we were here

I read Revelations from the Bible

in hotel night stand with preacher precision.

I rattled on about the end of the world

in a quick cadence to distant drumbeats

played for strange faces and arched eyebrows

that pretend to know the secret of mixed drinks.


The past we longed to forget

waits for us to reenact its misdeeds.

The present we longed to ignore

perches on our shoulder blades.

The future we hoped to avoid

bides time on the other side of night.


Some of us got drunk faster than others,

some of us had mango bodies that slurped quick fire,

with spread lips to laugh or fang,

erupting throats to sing or scream.

Some paced like anxious dogs, unstoppable, urgent,

ready for war and revolution.


All of us desperate for the end of the world.

Katrina Kaye is a writer and educator seeking an audience for her ever-growing surplus of poetic meanderings. She hoards her previous published writings, links to publications, and additional information on her website: She is grateful to anyone who reads her work and in awe of those willing to share it.

Twitter: @PoetKatrinaKaye


Instagram: poetkatrinakaye