The Gap

The couch woke me. Not the alarm.

Just the static smell of stale beer

and my jacket, thrown across the armrest,

reeking faintly of cheap cigarettes.

My phone was dead, a black mirror

reflecting my own face, bewildered,

still wearing the clothes from last night.

No memory of the walk home from the bar.

No memory of locking the door.

Just a gap, a torn page, a missing reel.

And the fear, a cold knot in my gut,

what else did I leave behind in that blank space?