A POEM - CHOOSING MY WORDS WISELY

CHOOSING MY WORDS WISELY
I’d been sitting out there in that chair
for a while. I mean a fuckin’ while.
Maybe fifteen hours
with the odd trip to the pisser.
I was nearly finished with a bottle of Jim Beam
and was beginning to wonder what I’d do
when it ran out.
People came and went.
Some stuck around,
smoked cigarettes
and talked and laughed.
But this one guy,
he kept popping his head through the door,
looking around the courtyard,
sneaking glances at me,
then disappearing again.
After some time
I realized that he worked there,
at that hostel,
and that he was maybe worried
that I’d get out of hand.
I guess he’d heard some stories
about the great American bourbon drinker.
That was me.
What they called me, anyway.
Finally he popped his head through that door
another time and he looked over at me.
I saw him out of the corner of my eye,
then turned over to him and roared,
“that’s a goddamn lie!”
This scared and confused expression came to his face, like he didn’t know what I was talking about.
I waited a moment and then shouted,
“no! YOU’RE a goddamn lie!”
Everyone in the courtyard quieted down
and stared at me with worried eyes.
Those were the only words I’d spoken all day.