Tuesday Night at Emile's: crying air

there is a dizziness
he does not believe
it comes from wine
or lack of food
though he has drunk enough
eaten little

it is a morning thing
the over-rapid spin
of another morning

he does not rise from the bed quickly
has learnt on previous occasions
that would be an error
so he remains beneath the blanket
quite still
the same unmoving way
he sleeps though the night
blinking now to adjust to sunlight

the purpose of movement is
in any case
a moot point
for there is nothing to do
nowhere to go

when his vision has settled
the lank frame
levers feet to floor
torso upright on the edge of the bed
from which vantage
he can survey the wreckage
no not wreckage
disarray
of the place where he lives
what was his home
now more a repository
of clothes and objects strewn
of dishes unwashed
just as he is unwashed
and strewn

he feels an acute anguish at the sight
so much so wrong
every day a torture of emptiness
the like of which
he hasn’t experienced
since

not since then

how would she feel
to see him like this
this slide into dark places
when she took such pride in him
always
her perfect young man
who did what was good
what was right
made her so proud to see him
dressed well
conducted himself like a grown up
a gentleman
right from his first outings
as little more than a toddler

she would be horrified
never mind the reasons
appalled and shamed

his shoulders begin to shake
and he takes an audible gasping breath
that is more sob
than it is air

~