Welcoming nostrils,
the return of dusted-off smiles,
the hands raising plastic glasses.
The crank on the peanut machine
turns like a record.
Someone says drinking melted vinyl
fucks you up—believe them,
they’ve tried it.
Piano Man plays.
It’s relatable, not apropos:
There is no piano.
Only a carpeted stage
with a guitar tuned for Thursdays,
Billy Joel on an old TV,
laughter,
salted nuts tumbling from chins,
another epic story
the room keeps forgetting.
Joe Couture lives in rural Nova Scotia. Recent and upcoming publications include Main Street Rag, The Gorko Gazette, New Verse News, and Mad Swirl. His work has been nominated for Best Small Fictions 2027.
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