Nobody Wants to Hear It. By Hugh Blanton

Physically and mentally sick

after a three day bender -

never leaving my room except to walk

to the liquor store for more beer and whiskey.

I had lost the shit job I hated -

but inexplicably I hated losing it.

The phone rings - it's one of guys from where I'd been fired.

He's inconsolable - but wants me to console him.

Not because I was fired - but because

Kurt Cobain has died. The news said it was suicide -

he doesn't believe it.

'THAT BITCH WIFE DID IT!' he screams.

I act as if I know what he's talking about -

not wanting him to know I've been sitting

and staring at the walls for the last three days

without turning on a radio or TV.

'You know how these things go.' I tell him

because it's the wisest thing I can think of

as I fight the reflexive urge to vomit up last night's

American blended whiskey.

I offer a few more cliches of comfort

and then he sniffles a goodbye - thanking me

for being there for him.

I use the telephone touch keys

to check the stock I'd bought two weeks ago -

1000 shares of a computer maker for twenty-five cents.

It's now worth two cents. It would cost me

thirty five bucks in commission to sell

twenty bucks worth of stock. So I don't.

I slog my way to the liquor store for more booze -

but the ATM says my account is overdrawn.

On the way back home I stop to look at 

a cat lying dead at the end of the block.

I recognize him as the stray I'd been feeding

off and on over the last year or so.

The first thing I do when I get back home

is pick up the phone and try to conjure up

the number of someone who might have

a sympathetic ear for me.

The dial tone drones on until a recorded voice says - 

'If you'd like to make a call please hang up and try again.'

I hang up without trying again.

Nobody wants to hear it.

Lying on the filthy couch I stare at the ceiling

wondering what Kurt Cobain's last thoughts

might have been in those last lonely moments.

Hugh Blanton combs poems out of his hair during those moments he can steal away from his employers loading dock. He has appeared in Bottom Shelf Whiskey, As It Ought To Be, The Dope Fiend Daily, The Rye Whiskey Review and other places. He lives in San Diego.