In the morning I neglect the floor
Much, much longer than necessary.
As I examine my face in the bathroom mirror,
I contemplate the lighter side of suicide.
Many of my muscles have stopped working prematurely–
Stooping for cereal bowls can be a harrowing experience.
Invariably I find the afternoon over
Just a few brief moments after my day has begun.
I doodle in my notebook for a little while,
I watch the ceiling fan give its performance,
And–poof–it’s over.
Once it’s dark I sneak a drink from the kitchen cabinet.
Even though it’s only two or three fingers of tequila,
The woman living here always finds something to say.
She takes offense at me drinking every night.
But I have made a conscious decision to drink every night.
Going out for a smoke is the only way I get any fresh air.
Sometimes I walk down the driveway to the street,
Just so I can say I left the house that day.
Oh, and once a week I take out the trash.
Pete Able studied Creative Writing at Rutgers University. He has published short stories in Tsuki Magazine and Foliate Oak Magazine.