the bartender
sops up the *****
tears and ash
left on the bar
after the usual wednesday
night
as he flips up the stools
he can feel the indentations
left by the *****
and empty wallets
of the broke souls
who spent their dollars
trying to forget
that tonight existed
and the **** tomorrow
was bound to throw
in their faces

he felt a deep sadness
for those ghosts
he knew all too well why
they spent their nights
in his bar
yet he thought of himself
as some sort of a hero
for it were not for his bar
their sanctuary
the pieces of skull and brains
their loved ones would
have to clean up
would be too much for
even this society to bear
but he wondered
if he really was
a hero
was he not an accomplice
in their slow deaths
allowing them to drown
in their whiskey and sorrows

no this cannot be right
if they aren’t already dead
then they are dying
just like he is
just like we all are


he knew tomorrow night would
be the same
as tonight
the same tears
the same *****
the same ash
i guess as long
as we are alive to forget
the bartender will be
a hero
and his sanctuary
will remain
open