Still Water Prose Poems
Copyright @ 1989 by Arthur Garfunkel
Used by persmission of Author - All Rights Reserved
2 Champs, late in the night,
were up to their 18th tequila.
The wit, the rapport, the use of the metaphor
made throwing up out of the question.
See them now:
4 in the morning, the room reeling,
waves of nausea filling the songs.
Terrible, private pain.
There was a point of no
which he and I did pass;
The tickle of the tonsilsthe old heave-ho?
We both said No and kept the rage to ride that
coil of agony through the sunrise in the park...
They cheered for us in the
We strove for the hangover stage.
New York CityOctober 1983