‘hum a few bars’

-the following poem is from my third poetry collection (under construction right now), Poke The Scorpion With A Sharp Stick.  While I wrote it a few weeks ago, the last few lines seem fitting for what went down this week in the ongoing pinata that my immediate friends and family seem content to smack me like when I’m down…

hum a few bars

never go to bars

on weekends.

they’re full of brash

foolish children

aching to see and be seen.

skulking about the rail

posturing, mugging, braying

like asses

with designer gels and perfumes.

police cruisers lie in wait

picking their moment

savoring the hunt

waiting for the right

clown to pass through

their periphery

another life destroyed

maybe two

zippety doo dah.

dance clubs

packed to the rafters

with glitter and glo

disposable songs

for disposable people

practicing the slow

ritual

something like the sexual act.

lifers

hanging on to the last call

i’ve been there

(and I still visit myself from back then

from time to time)

but it hurts to go back.

nursing that last beer

that last scotch on ice

that last stout

that one more before the road home

hanging on to the night

because we’re horrified

of what comes into view

in broad daylight.

weekends at the bar sadden me

there are too many

things that can go wrong

and there is enough that is

faulty

in my contradictory

Existence

and enough ugliness

outside these haunts

to contend with.

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