Leaving Las Vegas
“the unbearable catastrophe of the soul” Donna Tartt
Six months in town
and all she had to show
for it was a stolen glass
ashtray from a Vegas casino.
The last man had left some
clothes in her closet to create
the illusion he might be about
to return but after awhile
of no man, she looked closer
at what was left behind, and saw
the clothes for what they were.
The bad deal of her life was
enough to want to make her go
for all the drugs in the medicine
chest, wash them away with last
of the red wine, but after the last
time, feeling five times worse
than she had before when she came
around, plus a week in county,
“for observation”, made her reconsider.
Besides you had to be truly
demented to intentionally create
a scene that required a stomach
pump near the end of it.
Lucky thing that last guy had
helped with a month’s rent so
she had a place to stay while trying
to motivate herself to do something
like work.
Not moving felt so real, so perfect,
the idea became: maybe I’ll just
sit here and sweat until I’m gone.
Give new meaning to the concept of
the slow death.
Maybe leave a note behind: it wasn’t
much but it was the best I could do.