Puddles and Promises

A curbside moment somewhere after last call.

Stop lights bleeding
through wet windows,
the kind of blue
that tastes like cheap vodka and shame.

He sat on the curb,
penny loafers scuffed,
socks lost from last night’s debacle.
A 40-ouncer Schlitz
precariously balanced
between his knees.

An old, orange tomcat
scurried past,
chasin’ a rat
that took a wrong turn.

Somewhere,
a woman’s cackle
echoed off the walls of the bar,
or maybe it was in his head,
debunked by booze.

He slumped against the slick bricks,
hands wet from the Schlitz,
and thought about the highways
he'd never been on.
Cities that smelled like old typewriters
and thrift stores.
Streets lined with glittering promises
he might finally write down.

He prodded a beetle with his finger,
trembling, cold,
looking for a line out of the lunacy.
Looking for the words
that might stick and breathe,
the sentences
that might make someone
taste a little bit of the ache he carried
like a carnival souvenir.

His reflection shimmered
in a puddle.
He thought about Narcissus,
and the dog with a bone growling,
and he thought maybe
he could still write it.
Could still leave his mark
before the night ate him�"
like a Coney Island hot dog.

Author's Note

Thank you for stopping by. I just posted a new long-form video reading from Aluminum Cowboys, along with a few gritty vignettes I wrote recently.

You can watch it here:
https://youtu.be/QzS2hIl5HOU

If you’re interested, Aluminum Cowboys: Poems and Short Stories and my other recently published books are available on Amazon.

Thanks for reading, watching, and supporting the work.

— Thomas W. Case

Reviews

[John the Baptist]

Stunning use of imagery and similes in this one. The subject is a portrait of the frustrated and self destructive artist. Though he sits on a curb with a beer bottle in his hand, the impetus to write that great poem still lies within him. The question is whether he will seize the day before the booze seizes him.

[Thomas W Case]

Exactly. Thank you, John.

[Kady R.]

Hiii Thomass,

Wooww what an amazing story here. The life of an artist is never easy and you definitely showed it here. I imagined the tom cat walking by chasing the rat. I imagined the drunkenness of the protagonist. I like how even though he had lofty dreams he decided to write about it instead. The poem is totally relatable!! Thanks for sharinggg🤗🤗

[Thomas W Case]

You are welcome. Thank you.

[John Sullivan]

Tom, I think I told you a while back that you're really hitting the high notes with the recent stuff... you are. Very much so. From a veteran of cheap vodka, bad women, and good cats... this one hits. Nicely done.

[Thomas W Case]

Thank you. I appreciate it.

[red93]

Marvellous Thomas, and what a brilliant contrast yr Writing makes to the slick polished images coming out of Hollywood and US TV. You have exposed the dark Heart of the American Dream and no mistake. Exceptional ✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

[Thomas W Case]

Thank you. Much appreciated.

[Relic]

This sounds like a starving artist who never made the big time the way he wanted. Now he sits in an alcoholic haze. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe the wrong connections, maybe the writers block. Either way, he's another sad story drowning himself in booze and sorrow, and yet willing to make another go of it. A very realistic story, Thomas.

[Thomas W Case]

Thank you, my friend.