your favorite table, your favorite bar

 

 

you are sitting at your favorite misery table

in the bar you always choose for grief

drinking to watch the made eyes of possible

dance by the window and horizon

you have been here before

and know exactly what to order

the waitress comes and goes

it is a well timed sequence

that folds into your monologue of regret

like the cartoon inserts

in the sunday paper

you think less clearly as each jar empties

knowing the oblivion is by design

as the figures in the window become abstract

you realize that you've bonded

with this table, this place, once again

marvel at your ability to sustain

relationships

 

 

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