Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Bar in the Basement of a Decent Hotel

Cannibalistic rituals south of me,
perched on cushioned stools,

predators stalking prey.

Elders conversing about past lives
and future ventures.
Stories of a minor whiplash,
drunken fender benders.

Puppets’ strings being pulled
by entities unknown.
Dogs handled by guards sniff
for lies and deceit.

The cash register rings full so
we’ll put a few extra bucks
in our pockets for later.

A green dress with a woman in it
enters through a padded door.
Gems flake off as she walks.

The last known pay phone rings.
Who will answer the call?


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