elegy for a partygirl
I wake up at 6-something when she comes into my room to get her bag, and she kisses me and I fall back asleep. Then I wake up at 8:50, because I have an exam, and she’s gone, and I end up watching TV until 11. I’m stuck thinking a lot lately about who I used to be. I can't drink much any more, I reckon it’s my new medication, and it’s weird to be, for the first time, the sober person – dealing with drunk friends and planning my ride home instead of going catatonic and being shoved into an Uber. The idea of clubbing until the sun comes up is a fantasy. The idea of hitting the afters at 9am having drank and danced all night is laughable. How was I doing that shit night after night for what, a year? Two years? Who was I? That version of me has no memories and no shame, and for that reason and for the feeling I had when everything was right, I miss her a bit. What else can I do but try my hand at poetry?
—
Elegy for a partygirl
I was born in the deep end
And nursed as an addict,
Ecstatic and credulous under the sheets,
To wake wet and bloody-nosed
You were born to me in fervour,
But your merit shot you down –
Now twelve comes fast and my Venus squats,
Spews green under the streetlights
Credit cards on the sink, their bodies on the bathroom floor,
Or my tangled hair and limp fingers
Dangling over the tub’s edge
All roads lead to where