Late Night With Hubert Laws And Jim Beam Poem by Doug Stewart

Late night jazz oozes from the
Radio, flickering images on the
TV with the sound turned down.

On the floor above a couple is making
Love, and in here Jim Beam is left in
Fumes, and I just read the same page

For the fifth time. I should kick off my
Hush Puppies, pour myself to bed, but
Tomorrow’s repetitions are already

Drifting in my head. Things can shift,
Can change, and life is a view
Kaleidoscopic, shifting like desert

Sands caught in an ebb tide, no place
Else to flow, repetitions, patterns in
The night. The moon has patterns of

Its own, but they shift not, nor do they
Move. Life, or the lack, only flows one way,
Great rivers and small creeks both keep to

Their appointed rounds. I throw what’s left of
Bourbon, glass and all, in the direction of the
Love makers, whether in celebration or to curse,

I do not know. Follow with the Hush Puppies,
And turn in. Tomorrow is another nightmare,
Another set of repetitions, another night with Jim.