Last Call By Michael Minassian

Alone at the bar,

I tap my foot

to a Roy Orbison song,

something about sorrow

and a woman from long ago.

Tonight I couldn’t write

anything longer

than what fits

on the beer coaster,

making up excuses:

I’m hungover,

have a headache,

a woman I slept with

had hairy armpits.

Not that I cared—

I thought I was in love

but she loved women more.

Is that all there is?

she whispered

when we woke 

up in the morning,

kissing me once 

before she got dressed.

The bartender interrupts 

my reverie:

Closing time, he growls

slapping a wet towel 

on the bar in front of me.

I search my phone

for her number…

Last call, I think to myself.

MICHAEL MINASSIAN is a Contributing Editor for Verse-Virtual, an online poetry journal. His poetry collections Time is Not a River, Morning Calm, and A Matter of Timing as well as a new chapbook, Jack Pays a Visit, are all available on Amazon. For more information:

https://michaelminassian.com