Angela After Bradley’s Wake


later she walked to the train station deep
in tomorrow’s wee hours half-drunk, stoned on
grief and ganja, wanting only to be gone
from this place, this grief, this loss — her brother,
younger, dead from a drunk driver chatting
on a cell phone at two in the afternoon,
he on his way from a late lunch back to work,
the drunk woman returning from her lunch
meeting with divorce attorney — now she,
angela, on a train to  chicago,
drinks another vodka martini and
wonders how cold lake  michigan’s waters
are a week before thanksgiving, and what
is there to be thankful for anyway . . .

David M Pitchford
20 Nov 2011

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