
‘hum a few bars’
September 2, 2008-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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