I Had No Idea
Where I Was
an old, a very old woman,
whom I didn’t know and
she was also fully clothed;
her skin was
sallow, almost translucent
and wrinkled, her toothless
mouth was open and she was
snoring like a chainsaw;
I surged from the bed and
lurched towards a window,
opened it up, thrust my head
forward and vomited into
the streets 3 floors below;
I wiped my mouth and walked
out of the room and down
a flight of stairs and I
heard snoring, very loud
snoring; I followed the
sound and found an old,
a very old man, fully clothed,
asleep and snoring
in an armchair;
I found a bathroom and
checked the wall-cabinet;
a strip of 5mg valium;
I was in luck;
I sprinkled some cold
water into my face and then
I walked down the final
flight of stairs and found
a kitchen, I pulled a
beer from the fridge and
then found the front door
and walked out into
the world and vomited.
I didn’t have a
fucking clue where I
was but I knew that I’d
find my way back home
somehow; whatever that
meant, however
important that was,
where ever it was,
I’d do it,
because there was
no place else.
___
John D. Robinson was born '63 UK; began working at age 15 and continues to do so; began writing poetry at age 16. Well over 100 of his poems have appeared in the small press. Most recently his poems have appeared in Red Fez, Dead Snakes, Underground Books, Pulsar and Bareback Lit. He is married with one daughter, two grandchildren, four cats and one dog.
