Patrick McDonough

She's on the bottom step
Of the back porch
At 2am
Filling empty bottles
With dreams
To go out with the trash
And contemplating the darkness
From the philosophy
Of another black eye
   And she knows
That the stars aren't gone
Just held in his fist
For another Friday night
And that the music
Bleeding through the
In the kitchen window
Won't be taking her
Dancing again
   And she knows
She's already dead
An angel with a flickering
40-watt halo
Above her head
Winged in cigarette smoke
Coughed from a broken rib
Waiting for him to come back
And bury her beneath his drunken body
And wondering
When she said goodbye

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