---

 

This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “All the Stories” Down in the Dirt v211 (9/23) Order the paperback book:

Order this writing that appears in the one-of-a-kind anthology Instant Karma the Down in the Dirt September-December 2023 issues collection book		get the 422 page September-December 2023 Down in the Dirt 6" x 9" ISBN# perfect-bound paperback book:

The Old Man In The Bar, The Kids Outside

John Grey

It’s like water
plus a smile that sucks you in
or a skirt that easier to catch
or a god in a bottle.

It’s my story,
the gesture of downing glass after glass,
filling the gullet, feeling it as it descends past my hurt and settles –
it’s liquid sure but it’s not water.

I sidle up to it like a shy boy
in a downtown bar
but soon enough, liquor and I are best pals
and I’m thanking him for my loss of memory.

I love the way it’s here and gone,
and children can only peer through the window,
and it’s warm and solid in my stomach,
but on my tongue from the first taste to the last and beyond.

The kids are out there now.
One with a thumb-sucking posture, another near to tears.
They don’t feel the dryness like I do.
I wish they’d go home to their mother.

I developed a desire for this at their age.
Maybe that’s why they don’t move.
They look up to their old man
even when they’re looking down on him.

Who’s that in the mirror behind the bar?
I grin at him. We’re cohorts in this.
The bartender is respectful but wary.
He knows that, at some point, he’ll have to toss me out.

I get real drunk, I’m like a rabid dog.
I make obeisance to the gutter.
I rot like my breath in the summer night.
And can’t find any part of me that I remember.

But that’s after I’m fully quenched.
And my hand sweats like my brow.
And I’m in some weird establishment
where the only door is the one that shuts behind me.

The kids are dull-eyed in the glass.
They don’t understand the word ‘satiation’.
One wipes his nose with the back of his hand.
He swallows the results. He thinks that’s cool.

Another glass. I drink it quickly.
The children watch but I wonder what they learn.
What can I say? My throat is dusty.
There’s no place else can settle it.

Maybe I’ll see that ten foot rabbit later.
Maybe some cop will drag me off to a cell.
I’ve done it all. It’s all been done to me.
Thirst only makes plans for the first part of the journey.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...