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Evan Stephens
Poems
Mar 2022
The Bartender II
I watch your legs -
not the denim or flesh,
but the long thigh bones
as they glide above the chevrons,
flourishes above the tile,
cursive scrawls in the wet air.
Strange thought, I know.
I cannot account for it.
My sister sends you regards
from New Jersey's Starland.
You smile with sweet tolerance.
Mezcal courses through my face.
Happy hour is ending,
& with it, my tenure in your kingdom.
I am cast adrift once again.
The moon is full tonight;
gravid, a white bursting.
It sings into the palms of my hands.
O bartender, bartender,
with your good posture:
who am I? Who am I?
Written by
Evan Stephens
44/M/DC
(44/M/DC)
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