Three Takes

Take One

A dog howling outside. A reflection of a clock light in a mirror. Not my dog.

Take Two

Don’t come down to the obvious like writing this, I tell myself. My face itches. This bedroom is mine.

Take Three

(three what
strange bedthoughts
you have my dear.
Well, give it back)
Thinking of sleeping in dirty sheets. An armchair sits itself in a corner, likely this night isn’t mine, although I’m lonely in it. The electric clock whirling. I hickup vomit and swallow it.

June 1972