A POEM - BANGKOK BLUES

BANGKOK BLUES
Sometimes, in those dark moments
Of introspection
When you’re holed up in some roach hotel
In some foreign country
Not having spoken to a person in days,
With an ache in your gut
And dysentery in your ass
You think about the home
And the ones you’ve left behind.
That morbid thought
Keeps pushing up and through
And even though you don’t want to have it,
You do, and finally you speak it,
To feel the pain,
Of hearing the words out loud,
To be sure that the words are real,
Then you go into the bathroom
And turn on the faucet
And you look in the mirror
and at your reflection you yell,
“sure, maybe I’ve done it all,
but have I done it all wrong!?”