Whiskey Row By David Painter

Whiskey Row, where the lost souls go,

where neon flickers like a dying prayer,

where gin joints stink of regret 

and cigarette smoke clouds the room

the room is full of secrets and nobody shares.

The bartender pours with a hollowed stare,

 Glasses clink and some are even clean,

 but the bourbon burns like gasoline.

It’s a place to forget, a place to drown,

a place where twenty bucks buys redemption

but your soul still feels like a clown. .

There are no chiffon, no pearls, no polished floors

 just sweat-stained shirts and unshaven face.

Whiskey Row,at the city's edge,

or down some dark road  

It don’t matter, it’s all the same

it’s a place where the downtrodden go 

with cheap booze and sticky floors. 

it’s a place to forget their name

where you can keep your secrets and no one cares 

David is an International published poet.He is a member of the Inner city writers’ group and penned in the city.His works have been published in Sweetycat Press,Piker press, Rye Whiskey Review,Clarendon House, Spillwords Press,The Writers’ Club,and  Dyst Literary Journal.as well as The World  of Myth,Every Writer,Ohio Bards and Academy of the Heart. He is a member of Ohio Writers Group and West Virginia Writers Group. His book of poems Thoughts Alone the Way  is available on Amazon