volume one IN THE D U D L E Y C L A R K - Ohio Vine Tours

GROGGY, GRAY, GROANING
Roy rises from his bed. He squinches his eyes and scrunches his
face. Now, if only he can stand.
Roy Weston stands.
Cowering pigeons coo on his windowsill.
Roy wobbles to his door and snicks open its lock.
With the sound of fatigued metal, he cranks on the doorknob
until it runs out of crank.
With his left shoulder slabbed up against flocked wallpaper,
he opens the door enough for one of his watery blue orbs to roam
the hallway.
He tips his face forward so the leading edge of the door
encounters and bisects the ridge of his brow.
He needs the support of both wall and door to keep from
falling over.
The hallway stands empty.
Unlike Roy.
The bar of light that lives at the bottom of 28/RR is asleep.
O, Lucky Bar!
Roy has tossed and turned all night, headphones cuddling his
neck.
His neck as a result is nice and warm.
His ears—perhaps the most highly developed portion of
himself—can hear the pathetic cooing of shivering pigeons on his
windowsill.
Having once been a shivering pigeon himself, Roy
understands.
But his sleeplessness was worth it. For, Roy’s mind is made
up.
ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY