juice bar
my wife and i
stand in line at a juice bar
we’ve decided not to drink on sundays
because we’re getting older
because sundays have always been
an alcohol free-for-all
arguments and sloppy sex
movies neither of us remember
and books we’ll have to reread the next day
this is sober sunday
so we’re in a juice bar line
with dozens of others
thin people who never wake up on monday morning
hot with sunday hangovers
really feeling the actuality of their death
and the juice bar is decked out in green and orange
and other earthy colors
there are pictures of hearts all over the place
to remind you that you are doing something
good for the body
i imagine regular bars decked out in bleak colors
blacks and grays and whites
and pictures of saturated livers hanging about
but this just makes me wish that i was in a bar
instead of in a juice bar line
with dozens of young people texting
or bobbing their heads to the loud and terrible
disney pop playing overhead
covers of covers of old songs
with other aging assholes fooling themselves
on a sunday afternoon
and the juice bar workers are overly friendly
when someone walks in the door
one of the workers shouts, welcome to jammin’ juice
then it is like a chain, an echo of workers
whether busy or not
shouting
welcome to jammn’
welcome to jammin’
welcome to jammin’
the whole thing reeks of artifice
a corporate ideal of hospitality
complete with a shot of wheatgrass
to help keep you on this planet longer than you’d like to be
it’s like being in a foreign country actually
and each time you place an order
the juice bar worker takes your name
instead of giving you a number
you do not get a paper receipt
because we’re all saving the world in this juice bar
it’s not the workers fault that it is this way
they need to make a buck
chances are good most of these people
would be getting drunk with their sunday
or standing in a juice bar line somewhere else
when your healthy drink comes up
your smoothie
or your juice mixed with crushed ice
one of the juice bar workers shouts your name
like they’ve known you forever
and the young stop texting for a moment
to go up to the counter for their sixty-ounce blast
of pomegranate paradise
or peach passion
or strawberry swirl
sucking it half way down before they even leave the juice
bar
while the rest of us stand there
listening to the disney music
the whirl of blenders
the door opening to a folksy bell
and another chorus of
welcome to jammin’
welcome to jammin’
welcome to jammin’
the blood pressure rising
a sense of propriety shot to shit
when each new drink that arrives is not our order
my wife and i
standing in this juice bar line
on a sober sunday afternoon
still somewhat convinced we’re doing something good
something healthy
instead of shoving down all of that poison
in the quiet of our own home
or sitting in a dead bar
with a cold beer
watching the warm sun shower the good earth
from behind smeared glass
just like the good lord
originally intended.
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