Bartender

The bartender’s long fingers,

Undress my petty words,

I play a one-sided game of chess,

With a selection of empty shot glasses,

He sees though me,

As though I were made of glass,

He’s met this emotional cul-de-sac,

A thousand times.

 

He plays psychotherapist,

To every drunken case study,

That stumbles by here,

All the talk of the town,

He is the oracle of whispers,

He knows everything,

I don’t know his name.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s