SHOOTING DOPE ON CHRISTMAS EVE

was so romantic
back in the day;
even the dealers
were especially nice
& generous: the bags
were fatter
& stronger
as if baby Jesus
was in the teaspoon.

The year was 1969
and I was a poet,
a philosopher,
a rogue, a
bullshit artist.
My courage
lasted til the veil
lifted every four hours
or so. By that time
we were sleeping: she
all soft and soapy;
me somewhere else
buying time
between rounds.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2016