Bad Poetry: Regret

 

Regret

is drinking

a third

of a bottle

of Four Roses

bourbon

and then playing

video games

for a few hours

into the evening

and then having

your eight-year old

wake you up

with an electronic

pop-it toy

before 6:30

in the morning,

and later having

to clean up

dog poop

in the house

because

the goddamn dog

didn’t poop outside,

so you take it

out through the abandoned

streets of downtown Aurora

sprinting in the cold

marveling at the lack

of people

of the quiet

the silence

and stillness

of dark morn.

What did I say

about regret?

I’ve already forgotten it

and I’m ready

to do it again.