Bartender

The bartender’s long fingers

undress my petty words

as I play a one-sided game of chess

with a selection of empty shot glasses

he sees through me

as though I myself were made of glass

he’s met with this emotional cul-de-sac

a thousand times.

 

He plays psychotherapist

to every drunken case study

that stumbles by here

hears all the talk of the town

he is the oracle of whispers

he knows everything

I don’t know his name.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s