I was raised in a market town
with nothing to sell
but the notion of escape
to higher planes
and better times.

Landlocked,
the bars only serve
to bring you down
or to distract you with sports news
and the price of beer.

The drunk crowds assemble
in uniform fashion,
at a routine time
with cyclical conversation
and a lack of expression.

With no time for a future,
we focus on the past,
memories of fuller wallets,
of that potential lover,
now a passing glance.

Still we drink and we meet
to satisfy our days,
to turn our sorrow
into laughter,
and to keep loneliness at bay.