July 21, 2015

Happy Hour


None of my old friends
come here anymore,
their bar stools taken
by others, who eye themselves
in the same big mirror,
telling the bartender
how important they are,
only their names
have been changed
to protect us all.
None of them
hold their drink well,
stumbling home,
no longer needing
a wake-up call,
leaving me alone
as in a dream
where I can still be found,
after walking out
into the sun,
knowing I wouldn't
go back for anyone.
I thought I heard
someone say,
they'd be seeing me
later today,
or maybe it was
yesterday.