Monday, January 31, 2011

The Bar

Tinted windows darken the noon

sunrays burning sweaty pavement.

The heavy door screams like a monster

under a child’s bed as silhouettes

drift out to hazy cigarette circles.

One lonely bartender

wipes the same glass over

and over as an attempt to wash

out the disappointment of his

mother. Murky orange liquid

cannon balls into

an empty depth of self-abuse.

Stools tower sacredly over drunken fools

holding onto the floor as liquor

drowns them in slurred speech.

Sip after sip of poison

to forget a Monday massacre.

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