It’s Tuesday afternoon
we should
probably have jobs
we should
probably have better things to do
and yet here we sit
A loud belch
from across the bar
recalls a shot of cheap whiskey
and another bottle of beer
is placed in front of me
Freddie Mercury is singing,
“Fat Bottomed Girls”
on an old fashion jukebox
I realize that I really
have no better place to be
a bum I might otherwise
look down upon
throws a kernel of popcorn at me
to keep me from nodding off
A guy wearing too much cheap cologne
occupies the stool next to me
I have to face away
as the fragrance of cheap booze
is more palpable
I down a shot of tequila
and reminisce about a girl
that I used to know
oh so many years ago
Somehow,
that all got messed up
My beer is 3 quarters full
and depressingly, sadly
I really don’t have
any better place to be