Mary Todd's Bar
under the bay bridge in astoria there is a
brick building with a gnarled up old wooden door.
something along the line of mary todds is written
on it.
In the doors Center is a strange looking compass
that welcomes in a little of the fog along
with the occasional thirsty kingfisher.
whose kingdom is a bundle of yellow and
white nets
tossed in the bed of a blue 84 ford pickup
parked
around the back.
here the locals always park in the back
and fill up
on busch beer in the can.
inside stacks of cardboard boxes full of
empty cans line the hallway
leading to the bathroom.
the bar is an old solid piece of maple with
countless carvings on it,
from what looks like pocket knives or
fishhooks.
scribbeled and carved names like john
and neil are everywhere,
but the wood looks old enough to have
jonah and noah on it.
now the whole place smells of salt and
whiskey,
the kind of salt thats in the air and settles
in your
mouth under your toungue.
nobody know's better than mary herself,
they say one day
leaning over the bar she looked over her
shoulder at the
sunlight coming through the window and
turned into
a pillar of salt.
of course that was years ago in the old
testament and you
know how fishermen tale tall tales,
especially at mary todd's.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
