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Tipping Point

Nicole Bird

It started at The Red Door
They make the best old fashioneds,
You introduced me to them.
They serve nachos in a frying pan
and it’s so delightful that I don’t notice
we’re 6 drinks deep,
You take my hand
when I lose my balance and I laugh
over Your shoulder, noticing
how You hold me up
much better now than you ever did
when we were together.

You kiss me and I take off running –
down Magnolia, trying to find my car.
You wrench my hand from my keys
and I call an Uber,
Get me out of here,
was all I told him.
We drove out to Venice and
I’m standing on the pier,
watching the ocean at night.
It’s Salsa night at the bar a few steps away
we get margaritas and he grabs my ass
while we dance.
I push his hand away, still too in love with You
to ever entertain someone else.

He drives me back to Hollywood,
I pay the steep fee
Of not accepting his advances.
He drops me at Vine and Sunset
and I lock eyes with the unhoused denizen,
this time a woman with flowers in her hair,
wilted red roses, browning at their edges.
I wonder how she got there,
was it gradual or did she all of the sudden
become the true owner of Hollywood?

The tequila powers my steps,
runs through my veins
and powers me down.

Before I know it,
it’s dawn.
I’m nestled between bags of garbage
and a crash alerts me awake.
I’m behind a coffee shop,
the same one where I order
a dirty chai on my late nights.

My eyes land on the sky,
the burgeoning day,
and I wonder if this is what
rock bottom feels like.
Will I soon find red roses in my hair
browning at their edges and
sickly sweet with their impending death?

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