In The Well

Standard

(Dated 12/26/08.  Clearly, I didn’t care much about final exams.)

I skipped school again to go to the bar.
Playing hooky in a juke joint on Golgotha Street.
There’s hockey playing on the television
above the bottles and
blaspheming barkeep.
But I ain’t interested in all of that.

Drinks are never on the house
and there’s a hard-knock, well-whiskeyed waitress
who will never go home with me,
in spite of all my well-meaning charm
and respectful winks and liquored, loving looks.

Maybe I should have gone to class,
but I can’t tell
whether this bar is a wax museum
a mausoleum
or a shooting gallery.

Last call.

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