poem of the day 04.03.15

good friday

i used to drink in a bar

that was open at 9 a.m. year round

you’d find men in there

well, mostly men

sucking up the suds on thanksgiving and christmas

they looked happier than anyone i’d ever seen

shoving hunks of dry turkey or greasy christmas ham

down their throats with their sullen families

it was a good place

if you could tolerate some bullshit

and the arbitrary conversation here and there

like i said, the place was never closed

except good friday

the bar was closed from twelve to three

the bartender kicked the drunks out

so they could go and cleanse themselves in church

mumbling along to the passion of the christ

with the other hoodwinked

but around two-thirty

they’d all start to congregate

third shifters and unemployment boys

drunk dads and retired old farts

mona, who fucked everyone in the bar

but her boyfriend, benny

a convention of the neighborhood’s saints

shaking in their faded beer buzz

waiting in the gray

for the miller light sign to come back on

red and illuminated

and the wooden door to click open

like the pearly gates of heaven.