TIRED
My fag-ends are all tired, my genuflections are
gone, my knees are like plywood that's split.
Everything hurts and I cannot walk another
God-damned half-mile. Just tonight, the girl
from Carteret with the barest English accent
left came up to me and said how broken-hearted
she was that I wasn't free and unencumbered.
'Because I really like you,' she said. I smiled
and said, 'that's okay, Tanya (she'd told me
her name); you'll find it all again someday.
Stay sunny - in fact, that's what I'm going to
call you next time we meet. Sunny.' I do think
she misunderstood though, because she said back
to me, 'you think I'll be somebody someday?'
Oh dear. At a loss. What could I say?
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