Bar Mate
At the "Head Inn' Bar,
I sat with Death.
Drinking the fog,
With my poor-man's "Crown"
Earlyer, In mood,
I called him over, telling
"It can wait, grab a drink".
Quite in my superior,
For just saving thousands.
You see, Him and I have met.
First a teenage drive,
Acid with ambulance,
Flip-rolling, tripping a bad action.
But I saw him.
Then at mid-life, Buhhda-r-us.
Told to sit with him,
He didn't say much.
Death and I ordered again.
I gave him grief,
for ordering a Cran-metropoliton,
He shrugged me off, sipping,
Smiled his cared-for white mug.
Genuine tho, no hidden intent.
I could buzzed gather.
We Chatted the gambit,
Topics unbound,
He listened as if I had something to say.
It felt like a talk, with a laid back relative.
Glad to see, but good for the go.
Time whispered my leave.
Plus my spirts were many.
I slurred a passing joke-jab.
"were is your cycle, black robe,
Bone pointing finger "
He pierced me with a gaze,
like my dead father would,
Gentaly patting my back,
And by his smiling touch,
I sware, I sobered up.
Copyright © Johnathon Souders | Year Posted 2009
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