They found me clinging
to a maraschino cherry,
floating half-dead
in a rising tide of grenadine.
Hit by seven hurricanes
in a row,
in one night,
in the middle of downtown Phoenix.

As they airlifted me back to dry land,
they asked for my name
and I couldn’t remember.
The hurricanes had swept
the memory of it away.
I told them my name had drifted off in the grenadine,
tangled up in the bloated corpses
of my sorrows.

I knew there was nothing clever
in that cliche-
“drowning sorrows”;
but I fear that my wit was still
soaked to the bone with rum:
the poor dog had yet to shake us both dry.


Ashley Naftule is a writer/performer and native Phoenician. A playwright with Space 55 theater, he also organizes the Trunk Space’s annual H.P. Lovecraft birthday show. When he isn’t working or creating, he can be found belting out Billy Idol songs at karaoke bars across the Valley.

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