pull into the lot of rocks and glass
walking the streets a January night
past cold giant shadows and old brick buildings
built long ago by men gone long ago
in a time long ago sorely missed
V.F.W post, church thrift shop
mexican restaurant already closed
taverns with blue and red neon signs in the window
open flashing an old friend welcoming
cold beer dark bar no starry-eyed dreamers here
ripped leather bar stools that have sat many
floors with sticky black and white checkered tile
the white is now a waxy yellowy cream
a place to hideout--hideaway
have a few laughs, cry a few tears
drink a few whiskys, drink a few beers
pretty much the regular crowd
play some pool on the worn-out green velvet
stretched over worn out wood with cigarette burns
pretty indifferent colored balls fall into pockets
hours pass deeper into the night
last call now, crowd thins out
miss america ain’t coming in tonight
turn up the collar on that old black leather jacket
cold air bites like junkyard dog--goes right through you
car seat stiff--starter groans--motor rumbles
gravel crackles, few cars on the street
turn the heater on
watch for police—drive ever so careful—keep it between the lines
over bumpy railroad tracks and evil potholes
into the complex, basement apartment--nothing special
fall into the perennially unmade bed
no alarm--it was saturday night
now it’s sunday morning
