Nicotine yellow ran rings around
the lounge, framing tired wallpaper.
Georgian figures punctuated photos of
more recent fashions, watching the gin
bottle empty into a cup that
knew nothing else. The TV drowned
out our voices so no one
ever really knew, wanting the outside
where seagulls screamed, their sea
smashing cliffs of red stone that
distinguished the shoreline. Death
haunted rooms filled with treasure much
older than me, memories of past lives,
a resting place for someone else’s
thoughts and Gods.
Night came without argument,
defeat taken on the chin.
deuce coupe 