Wasted

She slept on her couch, was still there

in the morning, wrapped in a blanket

and hugging her little dog.  She mumbled

something about coffee, gestured

toward the kitchen.  I was stirring

in some sugar when she turned down

the tv, and yelled out that she’d called

a limo service to take me to the airport,

they’d be here in about an hour or so,

I’d better shower and pack.  Then she turned

the tv up even louder than before.

 

The day before we’d been drinking heavy

at her brother’s birthday party, ended

up after dark real wasted out in the woods

with a bunch of people I didn’t know.

She grabbed a blanket and a bottle

of wine, took me off by the hand

behind some trees where she started

kissing me.  I wanted to kiss her back,

but I felt too drunk or something,

just laid there real still trying to hold

her tight enough to maybe stop time itself,

but it was no good.  She pulled herself on top

of me, pushed down hard on my shoulders. 

When the hell are you going to ask me to marry you?

she asked in the same voice she used with her dog

when he peed on the carpet.  Can you please

just tell me when you’re going to get around to it?

I wanted so badly to tell her, but by then she was sitting

on my chest and I could barely breathe.

-David J. Thompson, from Grace Takes Me