Poem: Not Righting

She says: “How are you babe?” And she’s talking to me but she doesn’t mean it – at all

I’m drinking foul coffee – dishwater black, thin and tasteless as it burns my tongue and throat.

I’m back in the place I always go.                   And generally when I should be somewhere else.

I’m trying to think of things to do and say.

But there’s no one to say it t…