a guy walks into a bar. no, seriously.

beautiful girl on his arm.
no. at his arm.
the semantics are important.
just listen:

he orders a drink. so does she.
i can't remember the last time
i saw it play out in that order.

i sip my whisky and pretend to look at something else.

this place was not built long enough ago
to contrive charm from dilapidation.
it was not built recently enough for HDTV.
there's probably symbolism in that somewhere,
but i'm still bitter about the cover charge,
and frankly i can't be bothered to find it.

he takes a sip. then another. then another.
i surmise little from this,
but it is clearly her turn to talk.
the room is getting awfully small,
and his glass is getting awfully empty.

i can't lip read. not even after this much scotch.
i catch myself doing it anyway.

i was wrong, and you were right.
i apologize for the ultimatum.
this isn't how this was supposed to go at all.
i just want to move on
and stop having this conversation.

she purposely spills her drink all over me,
something something not even listening,
and storms out of the bar.

i order another.
no point in chasing after her, really.

05/14/2013

Author's Note: https://pathetic.org/poem/1360385674

Posted on 05/15/2013
Copyright © 2024 V. Blake