Unable to sleep longer (I never can
when I’ve been drinking) I wake
in my own bed (this doesn’t
always happen) with
a bottle of tequila (half
empty if it matters) in my
one exposed hand (the other is
folded under my stomach) my
shoulders are salt-rimmed (as are
my elbows, my knees) the night
comes back to me (it isn’t Cancun,
it’s Iowa in January) there are bodies
strewn across my floor (I decide to get
them all coffee) without knowing who they are.
Amanda Kusek is a writer living in New York City with her neurotic Jack Russell Terrier, Ajax. Her poetry and essays have been published in Entropy Mag's Enclave, Anti-Heroin Chic, Blotterature and Niche. She was a featured poet at the Westmoreland Arts & Heritage Festival. She maintains her own blog at CheapCourage.com and runs Anon Magazine’s advice column, Thrive.