Are You Drinking?

washed-up, on shore, the old yellow notebook

 out again

 I write from the bed

 as I did last

 year.

 will see the doctor,

 Monday.

 "yes, doctor, weak legs, vertigo, head-

 aches and my back

 hurts."

 "are you drinking?" he will ask.

 "are you getting your

exercise, your

 vitamins?"

 I think that I am just ill

 with life, the same stale yet

 fluctuating

 factors.

 even at the track

 I watch the horses run by

 and it seems

 meaningless.

 I leave early after buying tickets on the

 remaining races.

 "taking off?" asks the motel

 clerk.

 "yes, it's boring,"

 I tell him.

 "If you think it's boring

 out there," he tells me, "you oughta be

 back here."

 so here I am

 propped up against my pillows

 again

 just an old guy

 just an old writer

 with a yellow

 notebook.

 something is

 walking across the

 floor

 toward

 me.

 oh, it's just

 my cat

 this

 time.