poetry

Bar Etiquette 

I called him an arsehole.

He called me myopic.

“You ain’t got no strife,
pretty-boy.”

I asked him why
he was tearing the labels off
of the beer bottles –
“I like to flick them
and watch your colleague
pick them
up.”

He’s been here
since half
past noon.
It’s a Sunday,
and I’ve children
playing outside.

He’s the sole
occupant
at the bar –
the respectable patrons
know better.

“Funny thing,
about shits –
you never want them
’til you lose them.”

I took that to heart.

I shit
every
single
goddamn day.

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2 thoughts on “Bar Etiquette 

  1. Pingback: Bar Etiquette  – island towards which we swim

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