Awol. Poem by Neil Gray

I woke up to find myself
in a strange room,
in a strange city,
with 5.40 in my pocket,
a graveyard of empty bottles
next to the bed
and a random blonde
draped across
my chest.

The moonlight was trying
to fight it's way
threw the
grime coated blind
and outside I could
here what
sounded like
gunshot's
not far enough
away
in the distance
for my liking.

The fog resting
across my mind
wouldn't lift
and I had
no idea how
I'd got here
or even where
here was.

In the hallway
there were raised voices
and the music
of Coltrane,
a tortured soundtrack
to this hellish evening.

So I did the only thing
that I could under
the circumstances.

Finished the cigar
in the ashtray,
swallowed the dregs
from the remaining
bottle

and rolled over
and went
back to
sleep.

Maybe things
would be clearer
in the
morning.