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Drinking with the Bartender
by Jim BenzThree fingers of Jack
in two heavy glasses.
As the jukebox dies,
we tip our heads back
and swallow.
The knock of my glass
hitting the bar
echoes
the knock of yours.
A cold breeze
blowing through the door
says a customer
is departing.
We can hear
the traffic outside
beginning to pick up.
"Rush hour," I sigh.
Glancing at the clock,
you nod somberly
and pour two more.
02/15/2010 Author's Note: obviously, I'm just writing for the sake of writing today.
Posted on 02/15/2010
Copyright © 2024 Jim Benz
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 02/16/10 at 03:19 AM I don't see anything wrong with that Jim. I just wish I had one of those glasses about now. My throat feels as if it is getting sore. You know, I could just use a little medication about this time of night. |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 02/16/10 at 06:02 PM Nevertheless, a classic scene of time passing. I like the contrasting separated "echoes", the cold breeze, that pierce the senses as the full glasses dull. |
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