A Night Of Salvation

Bar Scene

The hours of labor

have eaten away

the paths to reason.

A familiar place

friendly to those

in need of a moments

respite.

Her name is Sarah.

A whiskey

and

A beer.

She sets

on the counter

a cardboard coaster

shielding

the wood

from the

cool of the icy bottle.

Nectar and glass touch

the lips

as the fiery libation

pounds its way

down the gullet.

Sweet relief,

sweet revelation.

The music plays overhead,

it is of no consequence.

Words thrown about

in conversation

quickly become

a microcosmic babel

of tongues.

Quickly

the glass is emptied,

the bottle drained,

warming its

barren womb.

Sounds brighten

as the edge is softened

by God' s proof of his love.

Another shot glass,

another bottle.

The left hand

trembles a bit

as it reaches toward

the bottle.

It spills forth

a mouthful of brewed yeast.

It spreads itself on the counter

as a soaked rag

retrieves its aborted contents.

The hand steadies itself

as it reaches once more.

Half way down the bottle

the glass is drained

in a feeling of flame.

Lips reach forth once more

as if aching for the kiss

of a lost lover.

The final drop

touches tongue

and the illusion

revealed for what it is.

A certain warmth

is born,

then spreads

to extremities

waiting for their relief.

Feet touch ground

as the body steadies

itself.

Sarah was her name.

The stool is emptied

as life is muted once more

to make it bearable

to us,

the maddest of men.