Poem of the Day 07.17.08

34

thirty-four years old
i sit in the bar alone
waiting
with three dollars left
enough for another draft
but not enough to tip
the bartender
for his work.
another poem accepted
today
another rejected, too,
and apparently the novel
is just too sprawling
for one agent.
thirty-four years old
i sit in the bar alone
waiting for you
as bad jazz fusion plays
on the juke
and the world’s news
is muted
by the television
and by the mad drunks
all shouting about their days
at the bar,
as the bartender laughs
and pours someone another
beer.

04.09.08