"bartend" poems
a few weeks back i
opened my big
fat mouth
& agreed to bartend
this art auction fundraiser for
street children in
kenya
which my parents organize
yearly
to which a lotta local artists
big & small all
donate pieces to.
anyway my pops wouldn't
let me serve gin with tonic *(this being a front so
i could drink it all of course, if y'know me at all..)*
and bought bud light (horsepiss)
and for wine used several
bottles of the stuff my
mother makes
in town
at the Penetang Wine Cellar
which, though rich & darkly red
is over-dry and smacks of vinegar,
be assured.
so despite see-sawing between
indignant "No's"
&
commiserative "Yes'ses"
(i mean who else are they gonna get??)
(---and due in part to
my lack of success in
making other plans)
i end up doing it &
having an alright time
in the process ...
(hey i had a big sink fulla icy beers &
'probly drank more than anyone
else save my father's friend Ted!!)
---i even threw down
a bit o cash on a pretty neat little
abstract called "view to the bay"
but got outbid,
---as if i needed to drop $100 +
on some painting
when i should be saving ev'ry dime
for old España
in the new year.
so i crack another beer and
live vicariously thru my mother
when she picks up a oil of this island
with big storm & clouds comin' in
---and then outta nowhere it actually is me
that closes out the show by outbidding
a neighbour for a
photograph of some dingy toronto night
(buildings under construction)
and then go back to pouring more wine
& smiling & shaking (wringing) a few hands.
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 11:51 PM UTC
I have taken shots of sorrow
til it became bottle after bottle
of warm liquid that ever warms my veins
leaves me wobbly and in a daze
the bartender says my limit is reached
but i tell him to keep pouring
keep pouring ,keep pouring, til I lie down snoring
However, like a wounded beast i refuse to lie down
So,I'm sitting at the bar and feeling weak
ditzy and cant speak
the woman next to me is saying something
about her problems and things
but my only replies formed are mumblings
the shot glass is sitting on the bar empty in front of me
painted with the cherry red of my lipstick
that once made me pretty
it tempts me for another round
it's evil stares haunts me and so I befriend its gaze
by looking at the glass lovingly
I ask the bartend for more
but he tells security to usher me to the door
upset, i saunder out,
broke my left heel and scream curses as if im opening hell's mouth
Limping around,I somehow found my car and sat in it
took out depression ,rolled it up and lit it
kept taking hits
hit after blazing hit
til my car was so smoky,it leaked out the window
dancing into the air and vanishing--
leaving me as a widow
it was then i decided to grow
tracing the smoke as it dwindled
looked under my seat and found a half empty bottle pain
and kept sipping on it
with nothing to gain
the mirror showed my patheticacy
faded cherry red
runny eyeliner
and smudged blush
painted a wasted mural of me
numb from anything once felt or thought
i threw it into gear and attempted the wasted ****** of me
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 3:47 AM UTC
move to small island village
bartend at only bar
serve drunk Irishmen
sleep soundly
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 10:44 PM UTC