Depression Poem by Andrew Dabar

Hey you.

Just opened my eyes. It's eleven forty seven. The waking number. Tuesday is a long, lumbering train finally nearing the midnight depot, thirteen minutes from Wednesday.

Haven't heard from you in days.

I guess you're doing fine.

I'm not.

You're in someone else's arms.

I'm not.

A lovely brunette, a nurse with sleepy eyes, invited me to her place for a drink. Near the Baltimore harbor. We could go for a walk, she said.

No, thank you.

Other plans?

Yes.

Some other time?

Perhaps.

I rented a room for the night. Opened my tablet to write. Planned on spending the entire evening holding your invisible hand, tracing the harbor's edge of our love on paper, a river of memories lapping sensuously and reflecting like colorful city lights on dark waters.

But your palm was cold and clammy. You rolled your eyes and pulled away.

So I crawled into bed and slept for hours, trying not to think about it.

I'm wide awake now, dammit. Empty eyes blinking at a red digital clock. Waiting for Wednesday. Another Wednesday. Dreadfully sober. Somewhere between everything and nothing.
——————
Andrew Dabar