Dreams of Unhappiness

by Sarah Trudgeon

selected by Don Paterson

Whenever You Go To Rehab

I think about the day
we snorted Oxys in the laundry room,
jewel case on the dryer,
anointment of Bounty and Fresh Step
as the cat looked on. I'd paid.
You were more cheerful then,
slowing down for me later as I
opened the Bronco door and puked,
the road dusty, the weather numb,
without temperature or features,
an overcast dream. We lay on a brown
suede couch together, euphoric
in dead-stillness, and watched Planet Earth.
I always chose Seasonal Forests.
You always chose Caves.
And I think of it sickly, fondly.
It was a really nice day.

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