Pass the Time

Dreaming in green

Of the worlds ways to pass the time

Watching the snow flicker as it falls

In the dying bar light

 

Glowing pretty nonsense words

Strung out and electrified

Spitting venom into the street

Popping and crackling

 

I light another cigarette as

A car rolls buy carrying

The modern American family who

Stares into the flickering back of the seat

While the driver has a talk

With the dead voiced automated navigator

And the housewife reads her

Tales of sexual coercion

 

All flickering all blank

No real conversation save the simulated

 

Neon lights caught in the frost

Tires hiss by in the solidifying slush

The ethanol in my system

Provides a false sense of warmth

No need to worry about the security

And my foods gone cold

 

What a country

 

I look up wanting a refill

But the waitress in busy

Counting the minutes

Till she can kick me to the curb

What kind of tip was I supposed to leave?

Or did you just want me to leave?

I want to ask as I sit and casually watch

Her ignore me

 

But really I like this place

I don’t want to leave

Don’t want to wander in the cold again

So I ask for another drink

And enjoy the glare the woman gives me

As I sit a little longer

 

I was once told I had good taste

In bad whisky

But the vein runs deeper than that

It’s a good taste in bad whisky, worse food

And dingy hole in the wall bars

That let me smoke inside

12/27/2012

0138

Author's Note

Inspired by Jim

Reviews

[J Todd Underhill]

"You truly are a gental man and a scholar and a good judge of bad whiskey." I believe is how the quote goes, which I may add suits you to a T. This has a Plathian quality to the poem; however you need not stick your head in the oven because this piece is one to be proud of. A Vignette of modern city life where no one cares about eachother, but only what they can gain. Well written!

[.]

Haha! You sure did justice to Jim M. and showed us the way to the whiskey bar. We wouldn't have asked why but you did a great job of expressing that in the last three lines. Incidentally, the details of my country's story might be different, but it's as bad or good as yours. Riveting narration, K.

[K.C. Zbryk]

The cars roll past all stuffed with eyes, your brain feels bruised its no suprise, still one place to go...

[.]

Absolutely. "I tell you we must try."