P arking my Harley near the doorway, we sauntered inside.
O ther than a lone microphone, I took the emptiness in stride.
E VENTUALLY the emcee asked what would be our order,
T hough it was hard for him to speak because of his goiter.
R eaching for my empty wallet was an INEVITABLE ILLUSION,
Y our CREATIVITY will be needed now, to prevent any contusion.
P erhaps I was mistaken, thinking I’d drop in for an alcohol INFUSION.
A lthough, the strong smell of pot just might ease that delusion.
L ooking all around the place for some small sense of sanity,
A fter that, the TV just went blank during a show called “Hannity.”
C ould this place, I wondered; be a “poetry palace” with an open mike?
E xcited, I ran out for the chap book I left on my trike.
By John Trusty