Sunday, April 16, 2017

The Spinners

The bar is crammed with disappointed soccer fans
in their caps and scarves. The game ended 0-0.
Security cameras record every corner in grainy black and white
There is a trap door behind the bar, stairs leading down
Every time the door to the other room opens the sounds
of the band explode into the bar, then shut off just as suddenly.
Outside a car alarm blares from a car that has
blankets instead of glass covering its back windows.
A girl in a short skirt walks by, heavy gray bags
beneath her eyes. I want to kiss those bags,
make her feel like the night is still young.
A young man comes in and talks to the bouncer, who
takes a portable typewriter from behind the bar.
The young man opens the case, runs his hand
across the keys, snaps it shut, thanks the bouncer
and heads out the door into the night.
The Spinners comes on over the digital jukebox;
Could it be I’m falling in love [with you baby]
Could it be I’m falling in love
Could it be I’m falling in love
with you
with you
with you
Fat girls and their bearded boyfriends ducking out for a smoke
Table wobbles slightly, just like me
Everywhere I’ve traveled tonight, crazy men wanted to talk to me
or just to themselves, but their words are layered static babble in my brain
I long for clarity, simplicity
Could it be I’m falling in love
Could it be I’m falling in love
No. Definitely not.
The night is dark and cold
and I’m dreading going home. I’ve cast all the proper spells,

chanted the necessary incantations, and yet
I’m still going home alone again.

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