in london (though russian in spirit)

it is raining here tonight,
and i remember a night in london
spent mostly on the stoop
of a hostel.
i remember as much now
as i remembered the next morning,
which isn't much,
but the hangover seemed to think
that i should have remembered more.
i remember two bottles of vodka
shared between us three,
you other two both being girls,
and i swear to this day that
the small one was cheating
and not taking as many shots
as she was giving me.
i remember that the vodka was painful
going down.
i remember that it came back up later,
more gracefully for me than for you two.
i remember that i at least managed to
lean over the railing,
rather than depositing
all that was in me on the doorstep.
i remember a broken bottle
at some point,
and i remember chaperoning that bottle
down the sidewalk a ways,
so that it wouldn't hurt anyone.
it seems ironic that it wasn't that bottle's glass that inflicted damage.
i remember someone calling me gene wilder.
someone told me the next day
that i had been threatened;
i still wonder if it might have
been by that gene wilder gent.
i remember the dizzying trip
inside, alone, though i have no
recollection of you two leaving me.
i remember the maze that was
the inside of that hostel-
too many sets of stairs,
they all looked the same.
i remember finding a bathroom,
room enough for just one.
i remember sitting down in there,
fully clothed, just looking for a seat,
and resting my head against the
now closed door.
i remember what must have been later,
being retrieved by jason,
knocking at the door,
leading me back to a room i
wouldn't have been able to find.
i remember the morning,
miserable morning,
and it was raining.
raining in london.