Of course, there was a woman

Involved. The extent is problematic,

That involvement: merely across

The room, a bourbon-soaked

Fancy? Not approached? No real

Connection made?

It was after a reading. Fact.

Hugo: excellent, as expected.

He’d forgotten, another fact,

His briefcase or valise

Or satchel and recited,

From memory, all his works

Or all that he’d planned

To read, but with nothing to read

The poems lived anyway,

In his head, from his head

To ours, the listeners, rapt

Despite our ennui-exuding selves.

And stoked, admiring,

We went to someone’s house

Afterwards, gathered,

Talking, gleaning memories

To keep our own alive,

And the six-pack went quickly,

Primed as I was, and I started

On whatever the kitchen counter

Held that was found

To be open

Inviting

And of course

There was a woman

And I functioned

I suppose

In a blackout phase

That I came out of the next

Day to my regret.

Case drove, fortuitously,

Case, who doesn’t drink,

Case, who when asked,

Shakes his head and laughs.

Case, who tells me nothing

I need to know. Not fact one.

Case, that sonofabitch—

—D.C. rip