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.