inverted raconteur
he has nothing better to do
on his last shot, his last draft
before he has to go home to the wife and kid
he has nothing better to do
this hot saturday afternoon
so he talks my ear off about books and movies
anecdotes from his life that only he finds funny
i look at him and nod
resign myself to it
he and i have been doing this for years
in different bars
under different angles of light
always some book that i have to read
some movie that i have to see
something that his kid discovered the other day
the two of us taking up precious oxygen
i wish that i could turn him inside out
to see if anything interesting exists on the other side
but i’m sure that i’d be disappointed
in between soliloquies
he asks me what i’ve been up to lately
it’s a cursory gesture, i know
so i mumble something about work
just to get him started talking about his job
which he can go on and on about
through his last shot and draft
the little splash of whiskey he begs
the dazed bartender to throw at him
before he gets on his way
waving outside, peering in the window
still taking to me through the glass and neon
so soundproof that it must’ve been made in heaven. 05.28.12
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