a seventy sixth poem...'stomach for the weekend'

The weekend:

Where did it

Go? To the

Bottom of

A whiskey jar?

Same way

As music

Carried off

On the wind

From a below

Street-level

City bar?

Same way

As ash falling

From a lighted

Cigarette?

Same way

As your money

On a bad game

Of roulette?

Same way

As words swallowed

Before they

Tripped from

Your Tongue?

Same way

As the breath

Your stomach

Snatched from

Your lungs,

When she

Said she was

Leaving early

For some place
Somewhere else.