sitting at the bar.
Day after day.
Year after year.
No one knew
each other’s name
Just a glance or a token
word of acknowledgement
“What’s Up” we
all said…
As one of us
stumbled in from the
cold.
No buttons
to push or
an axe to grind
with a soiled co-worker.
Just this gang
of nobodies.
On human maintenance
stools, searching
for discounted utopia.
Somewhere…
Nowhere…
When one rummy
breaks the silence
of the TV…
“Patience is a virtue
that is overrated.”
We all turn around
and nod towards
the philosophical nomad.
I tip my 2004
Boston Red Sox
Championship hat.
Someone says “hmm…”
Another softly pounds
his beer in cheap applause…
Others say nothing…
As I…we go back
to another hour
of pitiful stares…
for the isolated mutants…
Now gone…
Lights dimmed…
Juke box busted…
An old cigarette machine
collecting dust in the corner
Amped and stilled
…towards
a death…that
just didn’t know
any better…to
avoid the Christmas rush.
Dan Provost has been published throughout the small press for many years. He is the author of nine books and lives in Berlin, New Hampshire with his wife Laura.
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