A small stretch of bar to call my own:
I cover it with my paper and a thin book of poems -
Most I don't understand at all
Some, unfortunately, I understand too well.
A TV in the corner
tut tuts 20 thousand screaming Yankee fans
into a shushing murmur that drifts
amongst the guests like an oversolicitous maitre' d.
I discuss favorite movies with the bartenders -
kids really, and one, incredulously
insists that Running Scared, the Paul Walker version,
is the best movie ever.
I could love him for that.
Disembodied pieces of conversations
roam unmolested through the air -
"What are you doing after work tonight?" -
"Smoking marijuana"
And
"Lets put on our PJs".
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