Nights Are Harder
Mornings are easy.
I make coffee
fry two eggs
read the news.
Afternoons I read
Hemingway
Bukowski
then I sleep.
Nights are harder.
Twelve hours of darkness
here at the equator.
I drink vodka
and stare at the paintings
until I sleep.
But I always awaken
at 2:30 am
and the memories
swarm my brain like black snakes.
She should have left
10 years ago
when she stopped loving me.
But she didn’t.
I am still paying the price.
Born in 1949. Midwest working class family.
I have lived a life outside the bell curve.
My taste and my work are eclectic and tend toward clarity,
simplicity and appreciation of the unique.
12 years Catholic school; BA in History from Northwestern
University; radical Hippie in the 60’s; Vietnam Veteran in
the 70’s; entrepreneur 80’s to 2005; ex-pat living in
Panama since 2006.
Poet, amateur photographer. I have also lived in Paris
(briefly) and the Philippine Islands.
“My IQ at age 18 was 154. But through a lifetime of
relationships with alcohol, women and bad decisions,
I have managed to cut it in half…
Love is a form of temporary insanity”
www.sigmamale.blog
