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Problematic blockheads
make up for a
work week.
Fights and disputes
with significant others
Feelings are as cold and numb
as the frozen tundra
from lack of stimulation and affection.
Vexed and frustrated
with only one outlet
to take the edge off.
Drown your sorrows
out at the nearby
hole-in-the-wall tavern
as a safe haven.
Coincidentally opened
at your convenience
for when you've hit your
lowest point.
Enter through the
neon lit beer signs
of the tap room in a
dark, damp atmosphere.
The bar keep already
knows your name.
Grab a barstool
at the u-shaped countertop,
light up a smoke,
tuck the pack in your front pocket,
order up your first pint
and take a look around
at this all-star lineup.
As the smoke clears....
it's like the city of the dead.
Necropolis for the local drunkards.
Crippled motards and disabled vets
play cards and scream of old war stories
and tell bad jokes.
Swimming in a sea of
mechanics uniforms with their names
etched upon their hearts.
Neighborhood friendly bar *****
with raspy voices.
Quenching for lust
in demeaning mannerisms.
Like a cigarette vending machine,
exchanging the poussoise
for free drinks and moloko.
Rowdy, ****-Eyed wonder boys
gather round at Sunday's mass for alcoholics and hover over pool tables
and smother dartboards.
Slipping pills in the
dead soldiers of the innocence.
All, over controlling the jukebox
with the appalling top 40 hits.
Pitcher after pitcher.
Empty and refilling their dog dishes
over and over again until they're in a
complete state of incoherence
and belligerence without pacing
and/or enjoying the simply
effects of alcohol.
Sober to blackout with
no in between.
Gilded with suds of
low budget malts.
Treated with over priced
sugary cocktails and
watered down aqua vitae
with colorful names.
You sit alone.
Head tilted back.
Drink slow.
Let it flow
as you pour the shots and drafts
down your throat with
that burning sensation aftermath.
Fueled by barley and hops.
You're catapulted into that warm,
fuzzy feeling of being buzzed
and you let it overtake you.
It may not be much but
it's all you got at the moment.
Entire paychecks blown.
Myriad of ashtrays fill up
while engaging with
preposterous claptrap conversationalists.
Muscled, mustache macho men
feel pilloried over petty and
trivial coin tricks
and have to swing their
over compensated ***** by
quickly escalating in violence
and breaking beer bottles
over the heads of Neanderthals
who are evolutionary one step behind.
Gummed by shanky old hags
in bathroom blow jobs.
Eight ball party favors
lined up for indulgence
on the seats of the scummiest toilets.
And those mirrors.....
Those ******* mirrors
behind the bar.
Every time you look into them,
only to see yourself
and your surroundings.
You are reminded of the shameful digest
and wonders of how it is,
that it all comes down to this.
there you are,
still sipping beer through a straw.
Morning arrives,
you wake up feeling below par
and hazy.
As you gather your thoughts,
you roll over next to that
butterface haggard horrid wet spot
you avoided on the last stop
of your tour of profligacy.
Feeling ashamed of yourself
as this lifestyle hardens you.
You drink to remember.
You drink to forget.
You drink to your losses.
You drink to your gains.
You drink to celebrate.
You drink to your melancholy
and loneliness.
Either way....
you drink.

— The End —