Fuckedupness

She dragged herself along the street,
half-empty wine bottle in her hand,
she flopped onto a doorstep,
grim noises and spit gurgled up from her insides.
She embodied life’s fuckedupness.
Some kindly citizens made a call
but not without judgment.
A siren came closer and closer,
my heart sank a little more.
They took her away in their medical van.
It was sad,
not because she was going to die,
because she wasn’t going to live either.

First published on The Blue Hour:

http://thebluehourmagazine.com/2013/01/27/3-poems-by-jean-byrne/

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