poMotion poetry

Bar None

with 2 comments

The irregulars gather at the corners of the uptown bar.  Their mouths hang open like fishes lips do, bubbling water.  Wanda sits in her corner near the electrical outlet gulping down shots of bourbon and curling the stray hair that has fallen free of her clasp.  Harry, Frank, and Bob take turns throwing the finest competition darts at  a picture of Delores, who had been each of their wives at some point.  They munch on stale pretzels and Bob keeps shaking his head- she took everything, man-then loses the end of his sentences in happy hour specials.  Mel.  He sits in corner three.  He’s never traveled beyond the edges of the city and he rambles in German about the injustice of T.V.  Es geht night.   Es spinnt. The bartender just smiles through mounds of facial hair and pours the drinks.  He can’t hear anymore after the accident last year, but no one has noticed yet.  He just reads lips and pours drinks.  Sarah sits by herself at a table for two.  She is naked and writing furiously.  She won’t hear last call, or feel it when the police come to escort her away.  She is here every day, naked and scribbling in red ink over words:    “…a house well known from Omaha to Denver for its hospitality and for a certain charm of atmosphere.” By Sue Zalokar

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Written by lickmypoetry

June 4, 2010 at 3:08 pm

2 Responses

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  1. chuckle i see we have frequented the same places—wry grin–well said

    julie mccurdy

    June 4, 2010 at 7:25 pm


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