hemlock tonic

Dead in the alley.

i stumbled out after the rain.
flipped off the streetlamp;
the only people who see
it shine wish it wouldn't.

a spitting image of a man
i used to know lay in the
shadows. dead.

he looked at me and i
took this note from his
outstretched grip:

if I had a dollar for
every woman who loved me
i'd owe you one dollar.

i slid his eyes shut
and i sat down beside him.
i took a swig of his tonic
and held out my hand
for the next poor
b*****d to join us.

Author's Note

You're on the right track if you're guessing who the dead man is.

Reviews

[Taunt-gently]

If this could be an exchange of appreciation I think the stumble right here fits the bill.
From flipping off the street lamp, to the spitting image.

But where I got caught for the longest time was the if I had a dollar remark.
I almost got my head into thinking that perhaps he's been loved by the same woman who had loved you but it wont quite fit, which then leaves no place to go but think you were never loved at all, and so with that you go into the negative "and I'll be paying you" logic.

Which leaves the ending looking like there is a line up of loveless individuals out there just waiting to bleed out. All in all its a real predicament because usually all we read about are broken hearts bleeding out but never actually dying because they are generally caught yet again in the nick of time, this is just a little more true to life I think, because this goes straight to the chance there is no safety net, no one coming to the rescue, and its more true than not I think. Its real, its sad and even so I like it.

I know blabber blabber, but its true.

[[untitled]]

I love poems that tell a story especially one that is unique and mysterious. For a short write, this holds alot to the imagination. In my opinion, I think you did a nice job. The other reviewers brought up some great points so I won't even bother with an analysis. Love can certainly be the death of thee. I like this.

[Nay]

I frequently reread this one so I feel I should say something, though I don't have much. This seems much more plainly written than your usual thing, often so full of riddles and multi-faceted meanings. I wonder if by "spitting image" you mean you; it seems likely, especially when you repeat the drink and note for the "next poor b*****d", your next attempt. I also wonder if love itself is the tonic, you're fond of describing it like a poison or a curse.