Waking Up At One A.M. To P And Let The Dog Out For A Drink Poem by Ted Sheridan

I got up this morning at one a.m.; couldn’t sleep
with me. Seems that my brain just can’t achieve
all the rest it needs without something in the back
segment of a forgotten memory attempting to attack
my peaceful dreams with yet another
unpleasantly from the past.
This time it was a face of once great
beauty, turned old and ugly;
her dental hygiene regiment could have
used some serious improvement.
I’d met her in a local bar; she was a waitress
and I wanted to learn to play guitar.
I plugged it in and she strummed
my strings; we became a duet
and made the scene until the music stopped
flowing freely and the drugs
made everything sound like a soundtrack
to an old sixties movie.
She moved out to Vegas and I well…
I stayed back at the beach
where I continued to feed the sharks and relearned
to play guitar. Then just when I got
my dum de dum di dee dee back in the proper meter,
this nightmare of a former one hit wonder songbird
came back humming and writing a song
about coming back to me, accompanied by three
decorated members of the United States Navy in tow
to help carry her twenty bags of overnight luggage and abuse.
Now at least once a month after I drink a beer or three
and retire early, that same old song she used to sing
awakens me from what had been a peaceful dream;
singing out of key and projected between the remaining
two front teeth of her love for methamphetamine and me…
I got up this morning at one a.m.; couldn’t sleep
with me or the memory of her again…

2008 © T Sheridan