Getting Started With The Antlers

I'd awoken with the record player missing.
Along with a bottle of Chianti
and a bottle of Vodka.
I rubbed hangover from my right eye,
the oncoming morning vomit from my left,
and saw some note (Or maybe it was a phone call?)
telling me that 'It's over.'
I hadn't a clue nor an idea what had happened
but felt in my stomach that I had done nothing wrong.
So I got out of bed and drove on over to the now ex-lovers apartment.

She was angry.
But she was always angry.
I think she had father issues
and was self conscious about her body.
She told me some sad-sap story about my drinking,
I didn't remember it then,
and sure as hell don't remember it now.
She told me to quit or that it was over.
I gave her a kiss,
got up,
and walked out to the Buick.
Tears were falling from her eyes as I put it into drive
and went back to my place where all of this had started.

I walked in,
grabbed the sixer in the fridge
and slammed down a beer.
I sat at that old forgotten desk of mine
and typed out some of the better poems i've written
and felt the world being lifted off my shoulders.
"Fuck-It" I thought, drinking down the mason jar of wine she had left behind.
I leaned back in my chair, slouched down at Eight A.M. in the morning,
and I thought of the other three men that she had fucked.
And got over it, probably too slowly.

It's not til as of late I realize the absurdness of it all.
Not the situation really,
but rather,
that I had TRIED. Oh, how out of place.
Well,
Maybe it will happen again?
Where is my next dark haired woman?

*KNOCK KNOCK*

I look over my shoulder at the door.
I stop typing and decide that i'm not here.

"HAROLD! I CAN HEAR YOU GOD-DAMN IT!
I KNOW YOUR IN THERE! JUST ANSWER THE FUCKING DOOR!!"

I unscrew the cap from my bottle
and smile over it
as it touches my lips.