Beautiful Gina

You're about to leave the bar
when she sidles up next to you
in the empty stool
She looks at you
She's beautiful
As beautiful as every time
you've seen her
Her eyes brim with wet sadness
She pulls you close
She doesn't ask your name
because she knows your name
because you've seen each other here
before on late nights after many drinks
She tells you that there are choices
she has to make
She pulls you close
all of a sudden
Her lips touch yours
You are kissing
You feel her sadness
That need
as simple as it is
to be comforted
in time of conflict
and confusion
You let her kiss you
a second time
You look into her beautiful
brown eyes brimming
with the burden of choice
You tell her you have to leave
She kisses you again
You let it happen
The night is over for you
Yet her night will grow
and change and shift
as dawn beckons
and words will
be exchanged
and choices
will be
made

Something and Nothing

I remember the time I sat at the end of the bar
waiting for you to come. I waited so long,
long enough to think you were not coming.

I had just finished my first drink when you
walked through the doors. You said you were
sorry for running so late. Don't worry about it,

I said. Well, I'm pretty sure that's what I said.
The voices of that busy night became a steady
chatter of indistinct drunkenness easily ignored.

We lost hours to drinks and talk. Our honesty
came easy but grew quicker with each empty
glass. What were doing that night?

Drinking. Talking. Drinking. Talking. Ignoring
everything until the next day. Was our talk
small? Was it too big? Or was it just right?

We had to leave so we left. What did we leave
in those empty glasses? Maybe a sliver of ice,
more likely, nothing at all.

Between Midnight and Closing

Meagan is not Tim

That is apparent from the outset

I tell her about

all the late Sunday nights

spent on a barstool

deep in the decaying guts

of downtown Los Angeles

I tell her

how I got to know Tim

bit by bit

each late Sunday

in those hours between

midnight and closing

Those hours when

everything happens

when nothing happens

She is young

and slings her drinks

with the confidence

of a professional

I rise from the stool

and when she asks if

I would like another

I answer in the negative

That I merely wished to say

goodnight

We say goodbye

and goodnight

and wait for another Sunday night

to say hello

Small Acts

Her voice was an accusatory howl
of the inconveniences
her friends would have to suffer
by making a phone call
to speak to myself.

The night carried on in this fashion
until it gave way
to departure,
to the moment my key turned
in the ignition,
til sparks gave birth to motion,
to approach a destination of relief.

Jesse saw me pull up
in the beaten shell of my car.
When my bruised body
made it to the bar
my drink of choice sat there
as if it had spent the entirety
of its life waiting for me.

A couple approaching middle-age
sat to my right,
a young couple sat to my left.
I felt so alone
to be without my loved one,
the source of my peace,
the one who calms
the tides in my life.

I emptied my pockets of
wallet, phone, notebook,
because of their bulk,
the way they always make
my pants feel
when bulging
with content,
with notes of action
and worry.

I asked the young man on my left
for a cigarette. It would go well
with my whiskey and beer.
It always does.
His girlfriend was drunk.
She slurred and stumbled
like a 19 year old
visiting their friend
for the first time at the state
university. Drinking their fill,
drinking the fill
for three.

Her boyfriend and I spoke
about music, about
the value of connecting
with those
of our inclination. She
jammed her way
between us.
Her breasts pressed against
my left arm,
they pressed harder
so I could feel the weight
of her body, the smell
of liquid relief
from her breath;
she pulled out her phone
and fumbled,
fumbled
like only the drunken
klutzes of the world can.

The couple on my right watched,
the blond girlfriend
took a long drag
from the cigarette she had bummed
from the drunken girl.
I drew a long pull
of alcohol down my throat,
to numb the recent hours,
to let go of the pain
of a loved ones absence.

Me and the young man exchanged
contact information,
made a promise to
be in touch,
to listen to the art we created.

Jesse placed my second round
in front of me.
The whiskey was already sweating
in its tumbler.

The young was closing out his tab
when I went to pay
for my second round
of beer and whiskey.
There had been
a twenty dollar bill
in there. It had slipped away
like so many voices gone mute.
I asked aloud,
"Did I put a twenty on the counter?"
Jesse said he hadn't seen it.
I emptied my pockets
in a futile search
that turned up
only a napkin
with snot crusted into it.

The girl was gone.
The young man offered to buy
me that round sitting in front of me.

I told him it was ok.
That twenty had to be there.

I said we'd be in touch
as he walked out.

The stools on my left
were now empty.

The couple on my right had been
talking amongst themselves.

The woman leaned in.
I saw her rummaging through 
your wallet. I didn't want 
to say anything
after the day I had at work.
I'm so sorry. I'm sorry
I didn't say anything.
I wanted to 
but it had been such a rough day.

I told her to not worry.
I had suspected as much
when I opened my empty wallet
and saw my license
moved to the opposite
space it normally
didn't occupy.

She told me she was sorry.
She saw her
going through my wallet.

I said it was ok.
I understood.
It had been a rough
night for me as well.
I was missing
my girlfriend.
Wanting her there.
If I could
have been in her arms
I would have
but the intoxicating
glow of liquid
spirits would have to do.

She asked if she could
buy me a drink.

I said it was ok.
She didn't have to,
that in the grand scheme
of things
it didn't matter.

She insisted.
Jesse poured
us shots of the good shit
that I normally couldn't afford.

We drank them down,
a small fire burning,
a reminder of vitality,
a reminder of the perpetual present
of our brief lives.

Her boyfriend was in the bag.
He had reached his limit.
She leaned over
to tell me
that she hoped
he would fuck
her brains out when they
got home. I told her
I hoped it would work out.

She said
she wished she had said something
when she it happening.
I told her
to not worry.
That I would rather be
with my girlfriend.
That twenty-dollars
was an acceptable loss
compared to the horror
and agony of those
in less fortunate positions than I.

I asked her to do me a small favor,
to look after my now empty wallet
sitting on the counter while
I took a piss. She agreed.

When I was done
I sat back down
and we began to talk about our days,
how glad we were to have them
behind us.
I grabbed my wallet
to tell her that I was glad
that the young girl
hadn't taken the check
I had in there.
When I open the worn
leather bill fold
there was a twenty-dollar bill
resting in front of the check
once more.

I looked down
and then up at her.
She smiled at me
and reached for my hand.
We touched for a moment
and she said,
don't worry about it.

Where Falcons Roost

Her name is Claudia and we met

at the bar down the street.

She's German and has been living

here since she was twenty-one.

She knows enough Spanish to get by.

The music and conversations blared.

We leaned in to hear one another,

she squeeze my hand and said

I like you,

no, really

I do. 

She's forty-three.

I said, I hope I see you soon.

She tugged at my beard.

Mandrake Bar: Friday, January 20th 2011

The sound of a crowded bar 

is like listening to the roars 

of dozens of animals in 

the savannah.