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.

Out of Sight

Out of sight, out of mind

out of the way, I had no say

so, you were free to entertain

the notion I could not complain

some witty anecdotes were made

my misplaced trust of yesterday

you think its funny game to play

when I can’t stand my ground

when I’m not around

to defend or to explain

to cut you dead, correct your claims

as you placed my picture in your frame

you think you’re perfect, what a shame.

 

Out of sight, out of mind

how fucking weak of you to dare

to make a comedy of my despair

to sit and smirk and gloat and stare

at my expense, and start to laugh

you find amusement in the past

I lick my wounds, switch you off

conclude enough is enough

knowing you’ll juice it all you can

it doesn’t make you much of a man

to confide in someone real and true

you can’t be trusted to tell the truth

I may be broken, may be bruised

but I don’t have anything to prove.