Happy Hour at the Bluebird Tavern

By Kevin S McCoy

its happy hour at the bluebird tavern
& the pool balls knock to some hidden rhythm
& the smoke hangs over us like a bad omen

don’t play no sad songs on the jukebox
none of that sinatra crap
save the sad songs for the end of the night
when we’ve squandered our treasures on the bathroom floor
we make fools of ourselves
we year down the pillars that frame our mythologies

play the sad songs before the shutters come down
the last of us are absorbed into the morning
sometimes the light will come quickly
but we don’t have the energy to move

it’s all about the battle between nature & history
even though one without the other is meaningless
it is nature that breeds us as free men
& history that chains us to the random

beer glass is stained gold like the riches of thirsty kings
but tomorrow it brings nothing more than sweet sticky sickness
to drink is an act of nature & is meaningless
but to drink as the world slips away silently
is a total different matter

i guess you reach a point where the words
don’t match up with the pictures in your head

Kevin McCoy lives and works in Colorado and is currently working on a new collection of poetry.

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