Still Water Prose Poems

Copyright @ 1989 by Arthur Garfunkel
ISBN 0-525-24795-5
Used by persmission of Author - All Rights Reserved


2 Champs, late in the night,
were up to their 18th tequila.
The wit, the rapport, the use of the metaphor
made throwing up out of the question.

See them now:
4 in the morning, the room reeling,
guitar playing,
waves of nausea filling the songs.
Terrible, private pain.

There was a point of no return
which he and I did pass;
The tickle of the tonsils—the old heave-ho?
We both said No and kept the rage to ride that
coil of agony through the sunrise in the park...

They cheered for us in the baseball parks;
We strove for the hangover stage.

New York CityOctober 1983