“The Drunk on The Plane”

by gurdeepmattu

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There is something so sad
About the drunk woman
Next to me. (Sure, I’ve been there.)
I even have the T-shirt.

There are the loves I
Have seen ground down, and
It stabs at my heart,
Just as the cheering glass coddles it.

The thrashing, fitful
Drunken sleep of the
Middle aged Woman
next to me,

She leans to rest,
First on my shoulder,
Then grabs for my arm.
I push her back.

She kicks the chair in front,
Stretching her legs, then Down!
She headbutts
The chair in front.

She has had maybe
12 of those mini red wines.
She is blotto in Santa’s dirty grotto.
She is feeling fine.

This is where drunks go, to a
Land of spectral simplicity, of
Shadows and rumours and
Yelling night terrors.

I see her later at
Baggage Reclaim #7
(She made it!). She is
Wearing a turkey on her head.

Maybe that was all of it,
Her Christmas Party?
I feel hollow,
And I feel guilty –

Because I know what
Drove her on. Or I can guess.
It’s a sweet smoky dulling of
The exquisite pain of knowing.
No more – and sometimes much less.

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