PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

When I stepped under the arch with the pink neon sign,
I took a deep breath.
My nostrils were immediately struck with the smell of old copper
blended with the stench of stale perfume;
the kind one buys at a discount store.

A lady (if that’s what you want to call her) stood behind the unpolished bar,
her face was coved with whiskey lines,
her hair the color of an over ripe orange.
Her jaw continually danced to the constant sound of popping gum.

A battered table with faded green felt
had stacks of quarters resting on its’ rails.
A young teenage boy with oily black hair,
leaned casually against a paint peeled column watching the colorful balls,
while the ashes from his cigarette clung to the filter, refusing to let go.

A war hero long forgotten with whiskers that looked almost yellow
sat starring motionless into his glass of rum as if it were a crystal ball,
his hands trembled when he finally lifted his drink to his lips.

The girl at the juke box in too short shorts,
tapped one red cowboy boot on the wood planked floor
as she swayed back and forth to Elvis,
eyes closed slightly to reveal the Marsha Brady blue liner caking her lids.

I left all the patrons who seemed to belong in the dimly lit cave
with its old time music and cracked vinyl stools.
I walked back under the arch with the pink neon sign I had to take a breath..