BROWN JUG. By Michael N. Thompson

There’s a country singer crooning

on the dusty old juke

He sounds familiar, but not quite

I look over at the shopworn missus

who lets her stringy blonde strands

fall across her face

to cover up lines of regret

from a life that came up short

We make eye contact and nod,

coming to a silent agreement

that this isn’t where either one of us

really wants to be

The years have used her up

worse than a boulevard hooker,

but I’m not in any better shape

I feel like a fraud

pretending I’m not falling apart

We’re two of the stories here

speeding towards an unhappy ending

Even the bartender

in this soul junkyard

recognizes that the Brown Jug

is the devil’s own

Michael N. Thompson likes bacon, cats and fantasy football.  His poetry has appeared in numerous literary journals including Word Riot, Toronto Quarterly and San Pedro River Review. He is the author of four poetry collections. Michael’s newest project is his first novel, Sympathy For The Devil. www.michaelnthompson.com