Sunday, Friendship Lane

 I just wrote this...I like how it rolled out, because it's dark, but the rhythm makes it somehow prettier...interesting little challenge. Hope you had a beautiful day...love, C.A.

Sunday, Friendship Lane

Hello again. Bottles of booze
carpet the floor. Walking
through it -- clink, clank --
I hear the chain sound,
the normal snakish rattle.

All around, strangers stretch,
rising up, coughing, hacking,
bloodshot eyes pop, popping.
Startled by freakish furniture
and features, everyone squints
at the shocking light. Shrill,
horrible morning voices echo,
and even worse, the whispers.

Shaking, I curse the beginning
shiver, and the migraine threat,
the headache for more. One, two,
shout out, I think I’m gonna be sick.
Attic-bound, another screams,
What happened? Blinking, I see
a flash of skin, a body pile,
and I remember one scene…

yes, we played strip poker,
and my roommate lost everything.
Attempting to hide her pale,
bare form, she bowed her head.
Letting her hair loose, she pressed
her chin down. But for the tip
of her flushed nose, she suddenly

became faceless, blinded
by the straight, red sheet,
her thick strands
nearly long enough
to cover
her breasts.

C.A. MacConnell