as the bartender slowly mopped around me, 

careful to leave my feet dry, he informed me

that it was two desolate hours past midnight.

I glance up to the clock’s face too close to the lights

to confirm it. It really was closing time.

All the drunks had left, leaving quietly like mimes.

All night the seat next to me was left alone

as my bottle emptied and the radio droned

out songs of despair and unrequited love.

Each song lyric stabbed a dark tempo into

My drunkenness while in my ear women cooed

For free shots of my bottle, my brown whiskey.

You were not there helping me keep things risky

and fueled by cocaine, you were not even in 

town. By then I’d guess you’d be tired and leaving

work, headed home to cold food and your dusty

bed. Outside your window your car was rusting

while you tried not to dream too much. Yet your dreams

corroded your sleeping patterns as stars gleamed

upon your amnesia thirty miles away.