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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “a Mad Escape” cc&d (v255) (the May/June 2015 22 year anniversary issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:

Order this writing in the book Salvation (issues edition) the cc&d Jan. - June 2015 collection book		get the 318 page Jan. - June 2015 cc&d magazine issue collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Order this writing in the book Salvation (issues / chapbooks edition) - the cc&d Jan. - June 2015 collection book		get the 410 page Jan. - June 2015 cc&d magazine issue collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

The Pain To Come

David J. Thompson

I’m living at my sister’s house back
in our old hometown these days, they fixed
up a room for me off the porch. She says
I’m welcome to stay as long as it takes
for me to get back on my feet again.
Not to worry, glad to have me, and
my brother-in-law keeps my glass full
of club soda when we watch baseball at night.

I’ve noticed the first bar I ever went to regularly
in town isn’t around anymore, the old building
next to the volunteer fire hall torn down
I don’t know when. No mixed drinks there,
just shots of Jameson or Jack Daniel’s.
The only kind of beer was Pabst Blue Ribbon
on tap, by the glass, frosted mug or pitcher.
Pat was the owner and only bartender,
every 3^rd or 4^th drink was on the house.
He served green beer on St. Patrick’s Day,
opened early for the 4^th of July parade.
My mom sent me his obit from the local weekly
when I was living down in Houston after
my first divorce. I stuck it on my fridge,
thought about him every time I got another beer
or ice for one more tall gin and tonic.

My friends and I played Midnight Rider and Sundown
a million times on the jukebox, lost all our other quarters
shooting 8-ball with all the old timers. At closing time
one night I fell down the steps into the parking lot, lay there
numb and laughing, blind to the pain to come, knowing then
I could still get up all on my own.

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