Wednesday, April 16, 2008

Bachelor Party

Waiting in the back room
for the coast to clear is someone
still combing his hair to the extreme
that it's the greatest work of art
anyone might see, if all they’ve seen are
country fairs on TV, fabulations by satellite,
seriously, I'm not kidding this is how they think, in a syntax
of hard rubber tines weaving through follicles, cross-cutting a scalp.
He could kiss himself, and he’s been drinking alone.
The problem is that the place is empty
and the bartender wants to go home
and there are wet spots in his crotch,
but there's always TV and magazines,
life going on somewhere,
There's a bone he wants to pick
with a beer of his own and a remote control.


Dawn Coyote said...

I know that room, that mirror, and the perfection of the still image.

I was in my old neighbourhood last night, wrestling with some old demons. And right there across the street was the pub where I used to drink twenty years ago. I could see myself walking in, going up to the bar and ordering a shot of tequila and a beer (my combination of choice), and then lighting up a smoke, settling down on a stool.

The only thing that prevents me at times like that is that I can't see what I'd do next, because the way I remember it is, the loneliness doesn't go away. I do.

Still, for me, the pull is relentless when the demons are out. It's no wonder I nearly killed myself. Good thing it passes, or I probably would.