i got the blues

i could have
been a singer, she
tells you one
night while you're
lying in bed, i could
have been a star.
then she starts
to sing. quietly
at first, but
louder as she
hits her stride,
sitting up in the bed.
before long there
are cats at
the window dogs
scratching at the door.
the neighbor up
above is banging
his cane against
the floor. i've seen
some hard times, she
says, between songs,
making her voice
deep and gravelly,
i've been down
a hard road, been
busted and broken,
my heart, my heart,
she begins to wail.
at this point you
throw a pillow at
her and say,
what's wrong with you?
we just made love
for ten, almost eleven
whole minutes.
aren't you tired?
i mean, it's really
late and i like
your singing, but
look at the time,
i have to go to
work tomorrow.
this is what i'm
talking about, she
says, settling
back onto the bed,
lying down. but
she keeps singing.
this love, this love
of ours, is not working
out, i got the blues,
i got the blues,
the she lifts some of
the pillows off your
head and whispers
into your ear one
last time,
i got the blues
and then some sort
of guitar noise.