Saturday, April 20, 2019


I remember balking
at having to work,
and the bar owner saying 
that Thanksgiving 
was a busy day.

“People wanna get fucked up,
get away from their families.”

And he wasn’t wrong.
I was slinging drinks 
like a madman,
and made some good tips.

Then rode my bicycle home,
across town at two 
in the morning,
and got harassed by Sparks P.D.,
for riding on the sidewalk.

The same cop 
who’d given me a DUI
a few weeks before.
(I’m not even joking)

Twenty years later,
I see it’s still true,
about Thanksgiving,
as I stroll past the neighborhood dive,
parking lot eerily full
at nine a.m.

Brian Rihlmann was born in NJ, and currently lives in Reno, NV. He writes mostly semi autobiographical, confessional free verse, much of it on the so-called "grittier" side.  Folk poetry...for folks.  He has been published in Constellate Magazine, Poppy Road Review, and has an upcoming piece in The American Journal Of Poetry.

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