by Erica Bennett


It’s Thursday


And I’m late

And it’s October


And it’s New Years

And spring break

And October again

And I am reminded of When Harry Met Sally

“And I’m going to be forty. When? Someday.”

Only I’ve not been forty for forty years

Because I’m eighty

And I’m dead like the rest of ‘em.

But rather than cry

It makes me smile, wonder

Where did the magic come from?

That single second of unreasoning inspiration

Fueled by adrenalin and cigarettes

Maybe sex and coffee, alcohol and emotion

That kept me up all hours of the night

Not wanting it to end

Warding off sleep = death


Leave a Reply