Tampa On The Curb Poem by Manny Francis III

Head in my hands, I'm not sure if I quite contemplate my life
as much as I consider why the road beneath me seems to be
emulating the Atlantic coastline.

In my current state, I attribute the motion in the ocean
of concrete to the seven dollars worth of alcohol that
SkyBar offered me.

Now, I understand that seven dollars worth may not seem
like it could take me a long way on a Friday or Saturday
night, but when you take into account that

seven ones bought me an open bar for an hour, you'd figure out
why I'm in the condition I'm in, and why I'll soon be
crawling along the sidewalk and into a yellow cab,

barely able to enunciate the numbers and letters of
my address to a man that probably wouldn't be able to
understand me if I were sober anyway.

Copyright © 2008 Manny Francis III