A Bar, In Time Of War By Trish Saunders

One of us is drunk. One is quiet. That’s me. 

No empty tables, or offers to share,

so we’re loitering by the door, 

when up flies this gorgeous bird, lingers a moment, leaves.

Hold that thought, I say, plucking

a twenty from my purse,

I’ll get us a table  

& quick like that, our hostess whisks

white tablecloth over picnic table, Sit here. 

Ships’ masts are glittering in the harbor. 

Night winds lift the cloth hem. 

I am so tired of this fight, truce, fight, make up,  

I have forgotten what these ancient grudges are,

all these years we could have been comforting each other.

A single, long horn blast from the harbor. 

 

Trish Saunders has poems published or forthcoming in The Chiron Review, Pacifica Poetry, The American Journal of Poetry, Crossroads Magazine, among other places. She lives in Seattle, formerly in Honolulu.