Tuesday Nights

I sit
in the backyard,
drinking
a bottle
of Popov vodka.
I light
a cigarette
and think
about her.
I wonder
if she's out
at a new bar,
with a new
boyfriend,
drinking pitchers
of cheap beer.
I pour
another drink.
My mind gets
good
and numb.
I light
a Pall Mall
and lean back.
I sit there
until
the sun
comes up;
then I watch
the people
go off
to work.
I climb
into bed,
still drunk,
her face
dancing in front
of me
like some
insane ghost.
I fall asleep,
alone.