I always dig the old bars
paint peeling;
names etched on the stools;
floors chipped over time
and time,
we never have enough
and yet
there’s always time to kill
I can while away minutes
and then hours
softly sipping or chugging
the bath
room wall
will alert me who to call
for a real good time
but I’ll avoid contact
a dreary afternoon
suddenly
a dreary evening
time I didn’t have to waste
deftly killed off
in a guilt free environment