Sake Sunrise

Bloated udon in a pool of anesthesia:
my first image of 5 a.m.
Then the couch it stained, next the crusted
sleeve, nowhere a trace of light.  Too early
to be hungover, too late to just say no,
I change my shirt and sludge downstairs
to the cab.  Soggy tempura in the gutter,
a gruff yet hesitant driver, swallowed
streets and empty vomit blur
into SFO.  I make it through security
dry.  The final ounce of miso acid
spills in a public bin—the toilet
was too far.  Last night seeps into
medicated waiting rooms, a few
slurred frames, but mostly
blanks I’m not eager to fill.

One response to “Sake Sunrise

  1. Sounds like a tough night. Great read though, very squishy.

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