Everyone’s entitled to a bad day -
but each day it was exactly
the same for our boss -
he’d scream,
shout and hurl things about,
mostly over nothing -
before he’d stare
at you
and shake madly,
until you weren’t sure if he was
about to explode, or cum -
his raw energy and bitter hatred
was so incredible that I got
the feeling that even if a soupçon
of love was let into his life,
it would have been so disarming
and eye opening -
that it could have
lifted mountains into the sky
and I hope that he found love,
even if it was a love for himself -
but I seriously doubt that
the miserable bastard
ever did.
Gwil James Thomas is a novelist, poet and inept musician. His written work can be found in numerous publications in print and online and has been nominated for The Pushcart Prize and Best of The Net. He resides in his hometown of Bristol, England, but has also lived in London, Brighton and Spain. His most recent chapbook can be found here: https://analogsubmission.com/chapbooks/gwiljamesthomas-cocoontransitions
We're the Ezine dedicated to all things barroom. We are slightly off what others consider the norm and always the last to close the bar. If you prefer the local dive bar to the glitz of some overpriced club then you're our kind of people. So welcome grab a drink and enjoy.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
In the Sun, They All-Pass By Michael Lee Johnson
In the bright sun in the early morning Gordon Lightfoot sings when everything comes back, to shadow thin, thunderclaps— and drips of rain. T...
-
near the on-ramp of I-10 in Crowley, Louisiana we unload our band equipment into the back of Gozzlebeck’s not the real name of the bar but a...
-
Diamond hair Bathe in bourbon and butter You are my Sunday prayer You are everything You are all You are life Rita S. Spalding has had poem...
-
there is a woman who is sometimes at my local café sitting outside with a glass of white wine and that’s not too unusual but i always notice...
No comments:
Post a Comment