Sunday, July 17, 2011

Revision of Notes from Arena Sports Bar and Grill

Notes from Arena Sports Bar and Grill


The corner of Fourth

and Washington;

salt lick for the wicked,


for neighbors, workers

fathers, mothers,

one and all wrong

and wronged. Loners

and runners all


nightly migrate and post.

These sad faces do little

to hide loss and nerves

and misfortune.


These people with

withered lips

suck hard on death sticks,

pretend it’s candy.


It’s warm now,

no more hands stuffed in pockets,

cigarette clasped in teeth.


These sad souls,

these snapping turtles

smoke outside with

greater vibrance than in

the gray months passed,


smelling like whisky

and wheat beer,

smoke and oak.


Now pink cheeks lift

through the haze.

A happy buzz of

voices big and small,

washed over with sweet

citrus and coriander.

They’re all here now.


Everyone has a place.

This is theirs.

They drink, smoke,

hide and forget,

yet stay together.

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