Daniel B. Silver

SIX AM BLUES


 

It’s six in the morning and I’m still drinking whiskey
It’s ten minutes to sunrise, but I couldn’t care less
It’s not that I’m blameless
It’s not that you’re irreplaceable
It’s just that I can’t find any motivation to bed

One shot in my house makes two in any other
Two one-thousands per jigger; four “alligators” total, when one does the math
Three times I called you
Four rings per effort
Five minutes later, I switch off the lights

You told me at sundown that I was just confused
You scolded me soundly and said I had no clue
You say things that sting
You know that I feel them
You can’t yell me perfect, though you try and try

One time in August there’s this girl at a bar
Two hands holding one near-empty drink
Three men around her
Four bodies, total
Five steps forward and I go for broke

I didn’t chase love, and I didn’t seek romance
I never thought barroom relationships could last
I was as surprised as you were
I was as delighted as you seemed
I never, ever wanted it to end

One chance at these things is all most people get
Two lovers together don’t any more make
Three days away and everything changes
Four times I’m sorry
Five years over in the moon’s single tour

And forever - as much as it means to a mortal - I’ll miss you
And think of you on nights like tonight
And you’ll never forget me
And I know you deny it
And, just in case, I’ll keep a full glass nearby

One turn of the doorknob is all that it takes
Two steps out the door; then walk to the car
Three minutes of driving
Four knocks at the front door
Five times I’m out of bed, hoping it’s you